c^d 


A    bend    in    the    path    showed    Desiree    in    the    moonlight 
waiting. 


THE 

WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 


BY 

LOUISE  GERARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  SON  OF  THE  SAHARA* 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
LOUISE  GERARD 


Printed  in  the  U.  S.  A. 


To  MY  FRIEND 
DOROTHEA  THORNTON  CLARKE 

WITHOUT   WHOSE    HELP 

AND   CONSTANT   ENCOURAGEMENT 

NEITHER  THIS   NOR   ANY   OF   MY   BOOKS 

WOULD   HAVE   BEEN  WRITTEN 


213SS21  I 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE 

CHAFTBK 

I    MOTHER  AND  SON      ........ 

II    THE  TRIPLE  ALLIANCE    ....... 

III  DESIREE  DE  MAILLY 

IV  MANUEL  BASSINO 

V    UNWELCOME  GIFTS «  16 

VI    UNCLE  AND  NIECE       .........  20 

PART  TWO 

I    JOHN  WILSON 22 

II    THE  ENCOUNTER 26 

III  BASSINO  KEEPS  His  PROMISE        .....  29 

IV  CHATEAU  DE  MAILLY 33 

V    A  CHANCE  MEETING 38 

VI    JULIETTE 53 

VII    DINNER 55 

VIII    THE  NECKLACE  OF  TEARS 65 

IX    AN  EXPLANATION 74 

X    SECLUSION    .     ,; 77 

XI    THE  GILBERTS 85 

XII    A  MOTOR  TRIP 88 

XIII  THE  GILBERTS  VISIT  DESIREE    ......  93 

XIV  WILSON  MEETS  THE  GILBERTS    ......  99 

XV    A  PAIR  OF  KNAVES 107 

XVI    THE  BRACELET .  no 

XVII    THE  DANCE 113 

XVIII    DISILLUSION      ,, 123 

vii 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  FACE 

XIX  THE  QUARREL 126 

XX  MISUNDERSTOOD 133 

XXI  THE  INTERVIEW 138 

XXII  SCHEMES 143 

XXIII  WILSON'S  REMORSE 148 

XXIV  MANUEL  BASSINO  AERTVES 152 

XXV  DESIREE'S  NEW  HOME    .    ,: 157 

XXVI  A  GOOD  SAMARITAN 167 

XXVII  THE  GILBERTS  MEET  WITH  AN  OBSTACLE    .     .  171 

XXVIII  DESIRES  FINDS  A  TRUE  FRIEND 175 

XXIX  DESIREE'S  BLINDNESS 179 

XXX  THE  PRINCESS  OF  THE  FAIRY  TALE    ....  184 

XXXI  A   CONSULTATION .189 

XXXII  WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO 194 

XXXIII  THE  OPERATION 207 

XXXIV  MACHINATIONS 211 

XXXV  THE  THEFT 214 

XXXVI  THE  ESCAPE 218 

XXXVII  REALIZATION 224 

XXXVIII  DESPAIR  227 

XXXIX  THE  SACRIFICE 230 

PART  THREE 

I  THE  ICE  MAIDEN 235 

II  MRS.  GREEN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER    .....  247 

III  THE  DECEPTION .251 

IV  EDWARD  WILSON 256 

V  THE  SECRET     . 266 

VI  THE  NEW  STEWARD 270 

VII  THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU 280 

VIII  MR.  GREEN  PREDICTS 293 

IX  A  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT    .......  296 

X  A  DREAM  THAT  CAME  TRUE 305 


THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 


THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

PART  ONE 


CHAPTER  I 
MOTHER  AND  SON 

When  John  Wilson  was  a  little  boy  his  mother  used 
to  tell  him  fairy  tales.  She  was  a  young  widow  who  had 
to  work  hard  for  a  living  and  she  had  not  much  time  for 
entertaining  her  small  son. 

The  story  John  loved  best  was  about  a  princess.  Being 
a  fairy  princess,  of  course  she  had  golden  hair,  blue  eyes, 
skin  like  alabaster,  and  hands  no  bigger  than  rose-leaves. 
She  lived  all  alone  in  a  ruined  castle  beset  with  dragons, 
and  of  course  an  ogre  wanted  to  marry  her — a  dreadful 
creature  like  a  toad,  with  a  black  face  and  long  yellow 
teeth.  The  poor  little  princess  spent  most  of  her  days  in 
weeping  because  of  the  dragons  and  the  ogre.  Then  he, 
John  Wilson,  aged  five,  came  along,  and  in  some  mar- 
velous manner  rescued  her. 

And  they  married  and  lived  happily  ever  after.  But 
they  did  not  live  in  the  mean  little  house  in  a  back  street 
where  John  and  his  mother  lived,  with  a  lodger  occupy- 
ing the  front  sitting-room  and  bedroom.  Their  home 
was  the  ruined  castle  in  the  mountains,  miles  away  from 
any  city.  They  had  a  beautiful  garden  where  lovely  trees 


2  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

and  flowers  grew,  and  they  kept  fowls  and  ducks  and 
cows,  all  things  that  John  loved,  and  that  oame  into  his 
life  very  seldom. 

"When  I'm  a  man  I  shall  really  marry  a  princess,"  he 
said  one  day  at  the  conclusion  of  this  favorite  story. 

His  mother  laughed  sadly,  for  princesses  and  her  boy 
were  far  asunder. 

The  little  boy  carried  the  princess  about  in  his  heart. 
She  went  to  school  with  him — the  board  school — and  even 
there  there  were  boys  who  twitted  him  because  of  his 
poverty,  and  the  two  neat,  round  patches  that  were  almost 
invariably  in  the  seat  of  his  trousers ;  "the  sun  and  moon" 
they  called  them.  For  John  was  a  sturdy  youngster,  who 
wore  out  his  clothes  quickly — so  quickly  that  his  mother 
sat  up  dressmaking  until  after  midnight  to  buy  more 
trousers.  Yet  she  was  glad  her  boy  was  strong,  even  if 
it  meant  extra  hard  work  for  her.  Health  was  all  she 
could  give  him  for  a  start  in  life,  and  so  that  he  should 
have  it,  she  half  starved  herself  to  feed  her  cub. 

When  the  boys  twitted  John  about  the  "sun  and  moon," 
and  because  he  had  no  pennies  with  which  to  buy  sweets 
and  marbles,  he  refused  to  cry.  Instead,  he  retired  to 
some  quiet  corner  and  told  the  princess.  And  she  would 
come  out  of  his  heart  and  sit  beside  him — a  tiny,  fragile, 
gentle  thing,  quite  different  from  any  of  the  little  girls 
who  came  into  John's  life — and  touch  him  with  rose-leaf 
hands. 

"Never  mind,  John,  if  you  are  poor,  I  love  you,"  she 
would  whisper. 

And  the  little  boy  was  quite  happy  again. 

When  John  was  five  the  princess  was  four,  and  when 
he  was  eight  she  was  seven.  By  that  time,  when  his 
confreres  bullied  him,  it  was  not  necessary  to  trouble  the 


MOTHER  AND  SON  3 

princess  about  the  matter.  He  had  learnt  to  retaliate  with 
his  fists. 

Nevertheless  he  still  talked  to  her,  and  she  talked  to 
him,  but  on  other  matters. 

One  winter's  afternoon,  as  he  was  coming  home  from 
school  in  the  dusk,  scuffling  his  feet  in  the  gutter,  picking 
up  an  odd  stone  here  and  there  as  he  went  along,  she  said : 

"What  are  you  picking  up  all  those  dirty  stones  for, 
John?" 

"They're  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  Princess," 
he  answered  promptly. 

Then  he  had  a  long  talk  with  her  about  the  wolf.  He 
had  just  heard  that  the  lodger  was  kept  for  that  purpose. 
The  lodger  was  a  thin,  little,  old  woman,  in  John's  esti- 
mation not  able  to  cope  with  the  task  assigned  to  her ;  so 
he  was  going  back  with  his  pocket  filled  with  stones  to 
drive  the  ravening  beast  away.  Hand  in  hand,  in  the 
twilight,  John  and  the  princess,  their  hearts  in  their 
mouths,  crept  down  the  long  dark  entry  that  led  to  the 
back  door,  the  little  boy  ready  to  push  his  companion 
behind  him  should  the  wolf  appear.  But  the  back  door 
was  reached  in  safety.  Then  John  quickly  put  the  princess 
back  into  his  heart ;  she  was  never  allowed  out  nowadays 
when  people  were  about,  because  once  or  twice  the  mere 
world  had  laughed  at  her. 

When  John  was  twelve  the  princess  was  eleven.  Then 
he  left  school  and  went  into  an  iron  foundry.  The  image 
of  the  princess  grew  fainter.  -But  sometimes  when  he  was 
indulging  in  strong  language  she  would  come  and  look 
at  him  with  soft,  reproachful  eyes,  and  put  her  tiny  hands 
to  her  ears,  and  the  rough  youth  would  stop,  and  try  to 
mold  himself  on  lines  his  ideal  would  approve. 


4  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

When  John  was  twenty-two  the  princess  was  eighteen, 
and  the  faint  shadow  of  her  came  between  him  and  the 
temptations  that  beset  a  healthy  young  man  who  has  just 
started  to  make  money. 

Then,  although  Wilson's  years  increased,  the  age  of 
the  princess  remained  stationary.  But  she  was  a  dream 
maiden  now,  a  high-born,  honorable,  dainty  little  thing, 
possessed  of  every  womanly  charm  and  virtue — an  ideal 
— and  in  a  hot,  hard  hunt  for  wealth  the  man  almost 
forgot  about  her. 

Yet  sometimes,  when  he  rested  for  a  moment  from 
the  heated  scramble,  she  would  come  and  sit  beside  him. 
And  he  would  smile  at  her  sadly. 

For  John  Wilson  knew  now  that  if  he  married  at  all 
it  would  not  be  a  princess.  Nevertheless,  the  lovely  fairy 
companion  of  his  boyhood  successfully  came  between  him 
and  all  other  women. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  TRIPLE  ALLIANCE 

A  lamp  was  burning  on  a  table  in  a  third-rate  New 
York  boarding-house.  It  showed  a  tawdry  room,  smelling 
of  cigarette  smoke  and  patchouli.  There  was  a  dirty 
cretonne  curtain  stretched  across  one  corner.  The  iron 
rod  on  which  it  hung  had  slipped  out  of  position,  expos- 
ing several  showy  evening  dresses. 

On  a  dishevelled  bed  a  woman  lay — a  common-looking 
creature.  Once  her  hair  had  been  bleached  a  bright 
metallic  yellow;  now,  from  the  scalp  upwards,  for  a 
couple  of  inches,  it  was  a  dull  brown.  Her  mouth  was 
open,  displaying  an  array  of  gold-mounted  teeth.  Her 
bold  eyes  were  glazed.  In  her  day  she  had  been  hand- 
some in  a  large,  coarse  way ;  but  now  her  day  was  done. 

By  the  bed  two  men  stood.  They  were  both  tall,  slim, 
handsome,  and  elegant,  unmistakably  well  bred.  The 
younger  was  dark,  the  elder  gray-haired. 

"Well,  mon  pere,  so  that's  the  end  of  Cissy/'  the  former 
said  presently.  "And  a  damned  long  time  she  was  dying." 

"And  the  end  of  The  Triple  Alliance'  too,"  his  father 
remarked. 

Turning  from  the  bed,  with  a  casual  air  Eugene  de 
Gilbert  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  he  said  in  response  to  his 
father's  remark. 

"Not  so  sure?"  the  Count  de  Gilbert  repeated.  "What 

5 


6  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

do  you  mean?    What  have  you  got  in  your  head  now, 
Eugene  ?"  he  questioned  in  a  tone  of  feverish  anxiety. 

"Several  schemes  to  come  between  me  and  my  pet 
aversion — work,  mon  cher" 

"Come  to  the  point,  can't  you  ?"  his  father  said  irritably. 

"Well,  then,  what's  to  prevent  us  from  using  Desiree  ? 
Let  her  keep  us  afloat  until  such  time  as  we  can  put  our 
hands  on  'The  Necklace  of  Tears,'  or  as  long  as  we  need 
her,  should  the  necklace  prove  a  fraud." 

"Using  Desiree!"  the  Count  echoed. 

"Yes,  Desiree,  my  cousin,  your  niece  and  ward. 
Desiree,  Countess  de  Mailly,"  Eugene  said,  emphasizing 
each  word,  as  if  pleased  at  the  sensation  his  suggestion 
had  caused,  and  anxious  to  be  still  more  impressive. 

His  father  stared  at  him  with  awe  and  admiration. 

"The  very  thing,  Eugene!"  he  cried,  excitedly.  "The 
very  thing!  You  must  go  and  fetch  her  at  once." 

Eugene  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigarette. 

"Not  me,"  he  replied.  "If  I  set  a  foot  in  France  I 
shall  have  to  fight  for  my  country — a  damned  uncomfort- 
able job.  You,  mon  pere,  you  must  fetch  her." 

He  paused  and  smiled  wickedly. 

"  The  Triple  Alliance'  is  dead.  Long  live  The  Triple 
Alliance' !"  he  finished,  his  voice  raised  to  a  shout. 

"Be  quiet,  you  fool,"  his  father  said  hastily,  giving  a 
nervous  glance  round.  "Every  police  bureau  in  the  States 
knows  that  name.  And  don't  you  mention  it  to  Desiree 
unless  you  want  to  get  us  both  imprisoned7 for  the  rest  of 
our  lives." 

"Mon  cher,  your  business  in  life  is  not  to  lecture  me, 
your  dutiful  son,  whose  one  aim  and  object  is  to  rectify 
the  lack  of  cash  brought  about  by  his  father's  wild  and 
extravagant  youth.  Your  business  is  to  go  to  France 


THE  TRIPLE  ALLIANCE  7 

and  fetch  Desiree.  There's  no  time  to  waste.  The  funds 
are  low.  Now  I'm  off  to  the  shipping  office  to  book  your 
passage,  and  then  to  see  about  getting  Cissy  under  the 
daisies  as  cheaply  as  possible." 

Whistling  gayly,  Eugene  de  Gilbert  went  from  the 
room,  leaving  his  father  staring  at  the  woman  who  had 
been  dead  barely  half  an  hour. 


CHAPTER  III 
DESIREE  DE  MAILLY 

Over  New  York  the  clocks  were  striking  two — two  in 
the  morning,  when  the  sky-scrapers  stood  black  against 
a  star-strewn  sky,  and  revelers  were  returning  from 
festivities.  A  little  party  of  three  had  just  come  back 
from  a  ball  at  a  fashionable  hotel  to  the  second-rate  lodg- 
ing-house where  they  were  staying.  One  of  the  three 
went  straight  up  to  the  shabby  back  sitting-room,  and 
sat  there  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  other  two. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  room,  but  a  ray  of  the  moon 
fell  into  it,  showing  a  girl  in  a  cheap  white  silk  evening 
frock,  who  was  sitting  with  her  hands  clasped  listlessly  on 
her  knee,  her  eyes  downcast. 

The  door  opening  made  her  turn  her  head  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

Two  men  entered. 

"Hello,  here's  Desiree  all  alone  in  the  dark,"  the 
younger  remarked. 

The  older  man  switched  on  the  light. 

"Don't  start  teasing  your  cousin,"  he  said  with  a  touch 
of  impatience. 

The  flare  showed  a  young  girl,  slender  and  fragile,  with 
a  thin,  transparent  face,  misty  blue  eyes,  and  a  wealth  of 
golden  hair  coiled  like  a  crown  on  the  top  of  her  small 
head;  a  nervous,  high-strung  child;  as  if  transfixed,  she 
turned  her  eyes  towards  the  two  men,  a  frightened  ex- 

8 


DESIREE  DE    MAILLY  9 

pression  in  them,  as  if  dreading  what  they  might  do  next. 
Judging  only  by  her  face  she  looked  about  fifteen,  but 
the  curves  of  her  drooping  figure  and  the  fact  that  her 
hair  was  up  indicated  that  she  must  be  older  than  that. 
In  spite  of  her  thinness  and  the  air  of  tragedy  that  lurked 
about  her  she  was  exceedingly  pretty,  and  with  happiness, 
care,  and  good  feeding  she  would  have  been  a  remarkably 
beautiful  girl. 

Crossing  to  her  side,  Eugene  drew  out  a  bracelet,  a 
handsome  piece  of  jewelry — a  band  of  rubies  and 
diamonds,  worth  at  least  ^500. 

"Ma  cherie,  would  you  like  to  try  on  this  pretty 
bracelet  ?"  he  asked. 

"Put  it  away,  Eugene,  at  once,"  the  old  Count  said,  a 
tremor  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  Desired  doesn't  understand,"  Eugene  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

Nevertheless  he  put  the  bracelet  into  his  pocket.  Then 
he  turned  towards  a  table  where  whisky  and  soda  and 
sandwiches  stood. 

"It's  a  damned  good  thing  that  Cissy  is  dead,"  he  went 
on  as  he  helped  himself  to  a  drink,  "for  now  it's  a  case  of 
a  half,  not  a  third,  and  I  don't  have  to  be  forever  pro- 
pitiating her.  Good  luck  to  you,  Desiree,"  he  finished, 
holding  the  glass  towards  the  girl.  "And  may  your 
heritage  prove  all  your  uncle  thinks  it." 

"Do  be  quiet,"  the  Count  said.  "A  curse  on  you  and 
your  ill-timed  jokes." 

"A  curse  on  me,  eh,  as  well  as  on  'The  Necklace  of 
Tears/ "  Eugene  commented,  by  no  means  perturbed. 
"Beware,  mon  pdre,  curses  come  home  to  roost." 

With  a  snarl  at  his  son  the  Count  de  Gilbert  turned 


io  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

towards  the  table,  with  trembling  hands  pouring  out  a 
glass  of  whisky  and  soda. 

"Won't  you  have  a  sandwich,  Desiree?"  he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you,  uncle." 

"Desiree  is  never  hungry,"  Eugene  put  in.  "De- 
siree never  wants  anything  nowadays  except  to  get  back 
to  France  and  away  from  us.  We'll  take  you  back,  little 
cousin,  when  you're  twenty-one,  never  fear.  We're  going 
to  be  present  at  your  birthday  festivities.  We  wouldn't 
miss  them  for  worlds,  would  we,  men  peref" 

The  old  Count  scowled  and  fidgeted,  and  Eugene's 
wicked  smile  deepened.  Then  he  crossed  to  the  girl's 
side  and  leaned  over  her,  his  handsome  face  expressing 
cruelty. 

"Give  me  a  kiss,  Desiree." 

She  moved  her  head  away  quickly. 

"I  don't  like  being  kissed,"  she  said. 

"•But  I  like  kissing  you,"  he  replied.  "And  I  know 
another  who  would  like  to — Manuel  Bassino,  our  new 
millionaire  friend  from  Brazil.  Why  did  you  run  away 
from  him  just  now?  Why  didn't  you  wait  and  say  good- 
by  when  he  had  so  kindly  given  us  a  lift  in  his  motor? 
Millionaires  don't  grow  on  every  tree.  You  should  en- 
courage him,  not  treat  him  in  that  offhand  manner. 
Think  how  nice  it  would  be  for  you — and  us — if  you 
were  the  wife  of  a  millionaire." 

There  was  no  reply  from  Desiree,  but  the  expression 
on  her  face  indicated  helpless  terror — the  look  of  one 
caught  in  a  trap  with  no  means  at  hand  for  escape. 


CHAPTER  IV 
MANUEL  BASSINO 

A  few  days  later  the  Count  de  Gilbert  brought  a  friend 
back  to  dinner.  The  visitor,  who  was  a  man  of  about 
forty,  was  far  from  prepossessing,  and  to  add  to  the  dis- 
advantages nature  had  bestowed  on  him,  years  of  dissipa- 
tion had  left  their  mark.  His  hair  was  black,  his  com- 
plexion swarthy,  and  undoubtedly  there  was  a  goodly 
modicum  of  negro  blood  in  him.  His  clothes  were  flashy, 
and  diamonds  glittered  in  his  shirt  front  and  on  his 
short,  fat  fingers. 

Between  the  courses  he  picked  his  teeth  the  while  fast- 
ening his  vulgar  and  covetous  gaze  on  the  young  girl 
seated  next  to  him.  But  Desiree  ignored  him  entirely, 
except  when  he  leaned  so  close  to  her  that  his  hot,  rank 
breath  fanned  her  cheek;  then  she  shivered  and  drew 
away. 

Once  the  meal  was  over  she  got  up  and  seated  herself 
as  far  away  from  him  as  possible.  But  she  did  not 
escape  for  long.  Within  a  few  minutes  he  was  at  her  side 
again,  breathing  heavily,  talking  in  a  thick,  guttural  voice 
with  a  rasping  American  accent. 

"In  Rio  I've  got  a  palace,  Countess,"  he  said  boast- 
fully, as  he  puffed  cigar  smoke  into  her  face,  "half  a 
dozen  automobiles,  and  more  servants  than  I  can  reckon 
up  just  now.  My  wife  could  be  a  queen  out  there,  blazing 
with  diamonds.  She  could  have  any  darned  thing  she 

ii 


12  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

liked  to  ask  for.  I've  got  six  hundred  thousand  dollars 
a  year.  And  I  guess  that's  not  a  bad  income  as  incomes 
go." 

He  paused  and  laid  a  hot  hand  on  the  girl's  thin  one. 

"You  could  be  that  queen  if  you  liked  to  be  a  bit  pleas- 
ant to  me,"  he  finished  with  heavy  emphasis. 

His  touch  sent  a  shudder  through  her.  Quickly  she 
drew  her  hand  away.  Without  a  word  she  rose  and  made 
towards  the  door,  almost  falling  over  a  chair  in  her  haste 
to  escape. 

Manuel  Bassino  watched  her  go,  chagrin  and  desire  on 
his  coarse  face. 

"Your  niece  don't  encourage  me  nearly  so  much  as 
you  do,  Count,"  he  remarked  the  moment  the  door  closed 
behind  her. 

"Desiree  is  not  used  to  the  world  and  its  ways,"  was 
the  even  response.  "She  had  never  been  a  day  away 
from  her  home  until  I  brought  her  to  America.  And  she 
is  not  accustomed  to  men  either." 

"That  innocent  baby  face  of  hers  has  set  me  on  fire," 
Bassino  answered  thickly.  "I'm  fed  up  on  actresses  and 
the  like.  And  I've  got  the  pick  of  all  that  come  to  Rio. 
I'm  just  crazy  for  that  girl.  So  crazy  that  I'd  marry  her 
in  spite  of  everything.  Though  I  know  you'd  let  me  have 
her  without  that,  if  the  check  was  big  enough." 

Eugene  laughed,  but  his  father  bristled  fiercely. 

"My  niece  is  not  for  sale,"  he  said  haughtily. 

"Don't  put  on  any  airs  for  my  benefit,"  Bassino 
answered  coolly. 

"Her  family  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  France,"  the  Count 
began. 

"I  know  all  about  the  family,"  Bassino  interrupted. 
"She's  a  thoroughbred  all  right.  A  bit  of  good  old  blue 


MANUEL    BASSINO  13 

blood  won't  do  my  family  any  harm.  That's  why  I  mean 
to  marry  her.  But  she  don't  seem  to  have  the  fancy  for 
me  that  I've  got  for  her,"  he  finished,  a  trifle  despond- 
ently. 

"A  French  girl  of  the  Countess  de  Mailly's  position 
has  to  marry  the  man  her  guardian  chooses,  not  according 
to  her  own  fancy,"  the  Count  commented. 

Bassino's  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  Desiree's  uncle. 

"Would  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  square  the  deal  ?" 

"I  shall  not  allow  my  niece  to  marry  before  she's 
twenty-cne." 

Here  Eugene  put  in  a  word  or  two  in  French,  a  lan- 
guage the  Brazilian  did  not  understand. 

"Let  him  have  her,"  he  said  quickly.  "With  her  mar- 
ried to  him  we  have  a  regular  source  of  income,  and  we 
can  still  use  her  judiciously,  if  necessary." 

A  stubborn  look  appeared  on  his  father's  face. 

"I've  waited  nearly  twenty  years  for  'The  Necklace 
of  Tears,' "  he  answered  in  the  same  language.  "It 
comes  to  Desiree  when  she's  twenty-one.  There's  no 
mistake  about  that.  I've  seen  the  terms  of  her  grand- 
father's will.  In  fifteen  months,  Eugene,  the  necklace 
will  be  ours.  And  it's  worth  at  least  five  million  francs." 

The  younger  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  know  my  opinion  of  the  old 
Count  de  Mailly  and  the  necklace." 

The  Count  de  Gilbert's  verdict  about  waiting  until 
Desiree  was  twenty-one  made  Bassino  sit  up  suddenly. 

"Twenty-one!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
I've  got  to  wait  a  whole  year  and  more?" 

When  the  Count  had  finished  talking  to  his  son,  he 
turned  his  attention  very  deliberately  once  more  to 
Desiree's  suitor. 


14  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"I  refuse  to  allow  her  to  be  married  until  she  is  of  age." 

"Look  here,"  Bassino  said  in  an  anxious  manner,  "I'll 
give  you  a  check  for  fifty  thousand  dollars  if  I  can  marry 
her  at  once." 

"You've  heard  my  terms,  Mr.  Bassino.  If  you  don't 
like  them " 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  cash  in  hand,  <mon  pere,  the  cash  in  hand,"  Eugene 
spluttered,  sotto  voce,  in  French.  "For  heaven's  sake 
don't  let  that  slip  for  a  shadowy  'Necklace  of  Tears.' 
As  far  as  America  is  concerned  our  day  is  about  done. 
Now  that  the  war  is  over  we  must  trek  to  Europe,  where 
'The  Triple  Alliance'  is  not  so  well  known.  And  the  trek 
will  cost  money." 

The  elder  Gilbert  turned  again  to  the  Brazilian. 

"Of  course,  if  during  the  interval  a  more  desirable 
parti  presents  himself,  naturally  nothing  is  settled." 

Bassino's  swarthy  face  suddenly  lost  its  look  of  assur- 
ance and  aggression. 

"If  I  give  you  a  check  for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  now, 
this  minute,  can  I  have  the  girl  when  she's  twenty-one?" 
he  asked,  his  voice  thick  with  anxiety. 

"Well,  of  course,  that  is  rather  different,"  the  old  Count 
answered. 

Bassino's  impatience  increasing,  he  immediately  drew 
out  a  check-book  and  a  fountain  pen.  Going  to  the  table, 
he  wrote  out  a  check  for  the  amount  and  handed  it  to 
Desiree's  guardian. 

The  Count  de  Gilbert  took  it,  folded  it  carefully,  and 
put  it  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Bassino  watched  him  do  it.    Then  he  said: 

"Now  that  I'm  the  Countess  Desiree's  suitor  I  can  come 
here  when  I  like  and  as  often  as  I  like?  And  when  I  put 


MANUEL    BASSINO  15 

the  question,  and  she  gives  me  the  go-by,  I  suppose  all 
I've  got  to  do  is  to  lay  the  matter  before  you  and  that 
settles  it?" 

"I  think  you  have  grasped  the  idea  exactly,"  Eugene 
replied. 

"But  what  innocence,  what  beauty,  what  a  feast  for  any 
man,"  Bassino  exclaimed,  the  fervor  of  his  passion  punc- 
tuating each  word. 

In  anticipation  of  the  treat  in  store  for  him,  he  was 
indeed  a  happy  man. 


CHAPTER  V 
UNWELCOME  GIFTS 

By  the  window  of  the  dingy  sitting-room  Desiree  sat 
knitting,  a  drooping,  graceful  figure  in  a  shabby  serge 
frock,  with  the  sun  glinting  on  her  crown  of  golden  hair. 
And  the  little  hands  that  worked  away  so  industriously 
were  not  much  bigger  than  those  of  John  Wilson's  fairy 
princess. 

In  a  deep  chair  close  by  her  cousin  lolled.  Although 
it  was  nearly  midday,  he  was  still  in  pyjamas  and  slippers. 
He  was  breaking  his  fast  in  a  continental  manner.  A  cup 
of  black  coffee,  a  liqueur,  and  a  box  of  cigarettes  stood 
on  the  table  beside  him. 

The  sound  of  a  heavy  footstep  on  the  stairs  caused  a 
frightened  look  to  pass  over  the  girl's  face. 

"Eugene,  there's  Mr.  Bassino,"  she  said,  a  note  of 
terror  in  her  voice.  "He's  been  here  every  day  this  week. 
Please,  please,  don't  go  and  leave  me  alone  with  him,"  she 
pleaded  imploringly. 

Her  cousin  laughed. 

"What's  wrong  with  Bassino?"  he  asked.  "He's  not 
going  to  eat  you." 

"I  don't  like  him." 

"Well,  you  must  be  civil  to  your  uncle's  friends." 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened.  The  Brazilian 
entered.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  huge  bouquet  of 
parma  violets,  and  tucked  under  his  arm  was  an  enormous 
box  of  chocolates. 

16 


UNWELCOME  GIFTS  17 

Nodding  to  Eugene,  he  crossed  to  the  girl's  side. 

"I  know  you  like  flowers,  Countess,  so  I  brought  you 
some,"  he  said,  laying  the  bouquet  on  her  knee.  "You've 
only  got  to  say  the  word  and  I'll  send  a  cartload  round 
every  day.  And  I  brought  you  some  chocolates,"  he 
continued,  thrusting  the  box  on  her.  "All  girls  like 
them." 

"Thank  you ;  I'd  rather  not  have  anything,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Nonsense,"  her  cousin  put  in  sharply.  "If  your  uncle 
says  Mr.  Bassino  may  bring  you  presents  that  settles  it" 

Desiree's  hands  started  to  tremble.  The  flowers  re- 
mained ignored  on  her  knee.  The  great  box  of  chocolates 
Bassino  laid  on  a  little  table  beside  her,  for  she  had  made 
no  attempt  to  take  them. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  watched  her,  a  look  of  longing 
on  his  coarse  face ;  then  he  turned  to  her  cousin. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  two  men  talked  together ;  then 
Eugene  got  up  and  went  from  the  room. 

Although  Desiree  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  she  heard  him 
go,  and  she  knitted  more  industriously  than  ever,  as  if  t» 
bring  something  between  herself  and  Bassino. 

With  greedy  eyes  he  devoured  her.  At  each  of  his 
movements  she  started.  To  his  remarks  she  gave  low, 
trembling  replies. 

Presently  he  drew  his  chair  close  to  her  side. 

She  got  up  quickly,  as  if  to  go  from  the  room.  But 
he  caught  her  arm  and  pulled  her  down  again. 

"No,  Countess,"  he  said  thickly.  "You  always  run 
away  when  I  come." 

"I — I  don't  want  to  stay,"  she  said  helplessly,  like  a 
little  child  at  bay. 


18  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"You've  got  to  now,"  he  said,  still  keeping  a  detaining 
hand  on  her  arm. 

"Are  you  making  that  tie  for  me  ?"  he  inquired,  looking 
at  the  knitting  she  held  clutched  tight  in  desperate  little 
hands. 

"It's  a  Christmas  present  for  my  uncle,"  she  said  in  a 
frightened  voice. 

"What  would  you  like  me  to  get  you  for  a  Christmas 
present?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,  thank  you." 

"Come,"  he  said  affectionately,  his  sensual  face  close  to 
her  innocent  one,  his  hot  breath  fanning  her  thin  cheek, 
"all  girls  like  pretty  things.  What  would  you  like?  I'm 
a  millionaire.  And  I  guess  not  many  have  come  into  your 
life,  Countess." 

"I  don't  want  anything,  thank  you,"  she  persisted  with 
trembling  politeness. 

"You  mustn't  think  it's  going  to  break  me  to  get  a  few 
things  for  you,"  he  continued  with  a  cajoling  air.  "What 
about  a  rope  of  pearls?  They'd  suit  you  fine.  And  half 
a  dozen  pretty  frocks?  Real  good  ones,  that  cost  a  mint 
of  money,  not  the  cheap  things  you  always  wear." 

For  a  moment  the  child  turned  her  face  towards  him, 
a  look  of  hope  on  it 

"Then  you  don't  know  that — that " 

She  broke  off,  flushing  painfully. 

"I  know  all  right,"  he  responded.  "But  that  don't 
make  any  difference.  You're  such  a  little  beauty, 
Desiree." 

The  free  use  of  her  name  brought  a  touch  of  hauteur 
to  the  girl's  sensitive  face.  Before  she  had  time  to  say 
anything  he  had  taken  one  of  her  hands.  She  tried  to 
draw  it  away,  but  he  held  it  in  a  vise-like  grip. 


UNWELCOME  GIFTS  19 

"Your  uncle's  fixed  up  that  you're  to  marry  me,"  he 
went  on. 

"No,  no !"  she  gasped,  trying  to  get  away. 

He  slipped  an  arm  round  her,  drawing  her  close  to 
his  side. 

"Girls  who  say  'No'  must  be  kissed  into  saying  'Yes/  " 
he  said,  his  voice  hoarse  with  passion. 

She  struggled  frantically,  giving  little  gasping  screams. 
But  she  was  helpless  against  his  strength.  He  drew  her 
closer,  crushing  his  lips  on  hers. 

And  then  she  struggled  no  longer.  She  collapsed  in  his 
arms,  and  lay  there,  limp  and  white,  with  closed  eyes. 

For  a  moment  he  surveyed  her,  annoyance  and  amuse- 
ment in  his  gaze. 

"Scute"  he  said,  "my  little  thoroughbred  has  fainted." 

Then  he  laid  her  on  a  couch  and  rang  the  bell. 


CHAPTER  VI 
UNCLE  AND  NIECE 

In  a  dejected  attitude  Desiree  was  sitting  on  the  bed 
in  a  stuffy  little  room  on  the  top  floor  of  the  lodging- 
house.  In  her  simple  night-gown,  and  with  a  thick  plait 
of  golden  hair  hanging  on  either  side  of  her  small,  tear- 
stained  face,  she  looked  a  child — a  child  who  for  a 
punishment  had  been  sent  to  bed. 

This  idea  was  enhanced  by  the  fact  of  her  uncle  stand- 
ing severe  and  angry-looking  at  her  side. 

"Uncle,  I  don't  want  to  marry  Mr.  Bassino.  I  don't, 
really,"  a  helpless  little  voice  said. 

"Don't  be  so  foolish,  Desiree.  Think  how  rich  you'll 
be." 

"I  dont  want  to  be  rich." 

"Nonsense.  You've  no  dot  worth  talking  about.  Mr. 
Bassino  is  an  excellent  parti,  better  than  I'd  hoped  to  get 
for  you.  You  ought  to  be  grateful,  not  cry  about  it. 
Besides,  you're  not  going  to  be  married  until  you're 
twenty-one.  You'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  get  used  to 
^he  idea." 

"I  shall  never  get  used  to  the  idea.  I  shall  always  hate 
him." 

"Nonsense,"  her  uncle  said  again. 

"There's  'The  Necklace  of  Tears/  That's  mine  when 
I'm  twenty-one.  Can't  I  sell  that  instead  of  having  to 
marry  Mr.  Bassino?"  she  asked  in  a  desperate  voice. 

20 


UNCLE  AND  NIECE  21 

"  The  Necklace  of  Tears'  ?"  her  uncle  repeated. 

He  tried  to  make  his  tone  contemptuous  when  the  girl 
mentioned  her  heritage.  But  he  could  not.  In  spite  of 
his  efforts,  when  he  spoke  of  the  necklace  a  covetous  note 
crept  into  his  voice. 

"What's  that  worth?"  he  went  on.  "Perhaps  thirty 
thousand  francs.  That's  nothing  nowadays." 

"I'll  work  for  you.  I'll  do  anything  rather  than  marry 
Mr.  Bassino.  Oh,  uncle,  don't  make  me,"  she  pleaded, 
the  tears  starting  to  fall  again. 

"Work !  What  sort  of  work  could  you  do  ?"  he  asked 
impatiently. 

At  his  words  Desiree's  slim  hands  clasped  one  another 
in  an  agony  of  helplessness.  They  certainly  did  not  look 
fit  for  work. 

"If  I  say  you  are  to  marry  Mr.  Bassino,  that's  enough," 
her  uncle  went  on  in  a  sharp  tone.  "So  stop  crying,  and 
don't  let  me  have  any  more  of  this  foolishness." 

Angrily  he  turned  from  her  and  left  the  room,  switch- 
ing off  the  electric  light  behind  him. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Desiree  did  not  move,  transfixed 
by  the  fate  that  had  overtaken  her. 

Then  she  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside. 

"O  God,  in  this  great,  dark  world  is  there  no  one  who 
will  save  me?"  she  moaned. 

The  prayer  of  a  frantic,  helpless  child  left  to  the  mercy 
of  a  couple  of  scoundrels! 


PART  TWO 

CHAPTER  I 
JOHN  WILSON 

In  a  large  house  on  the  outskirts  of  an  English  manu- 
facturing town  a  Christmas  party  was  in  full  swing. 
There  were  fully  a  hundred  people  present.  Mrs.  Green's 
parties  were  always  popular ;  she  had  a  liking  for  pretty 
young  girls,  she  loved  match-making,  and  she  generally 
managed  to  get  plenty  of  eligible  men. 

At  that  moment  she  was  sitting  in  what  she  was  pleased 
to  call  the  winter  garden  of  her  ostentatious  home.  She 
was  a  woman  well  over  fifty,  plump  and  painted.  Her 
hair  had  been  tinted  a  bright  auburn,  and  added  to  con- 
siderably. She  was  dressed  in  a  most  youthful  manner, 
in  the  height  of  fashion,  and  was  smothered  with  showy 
and  expensive  jewelry. 

The  man  with  her  looked  somewhat  like  a  prize-fighter 
in  evening  dress.  He  was  of  medium  height,  with  a 
width  of  shoulder  that  made  him  appear  short  and  heavy, 
his  plain,  strong  face  clean-shaven  and  inclined  to  red- 
ness. His  close-cropped  hair  was  dark.  His  brown  eyes 
were  shrewd  and  kindly — the  eyes  of  a  man  who  knows 
the  world  and  the  measure  of  most  of  the  people  in  it. 
His  hands  were  large  and  powerful  and  chipped  by 
machinery.  Yet  they  were  not  clumsy,  for  he  handled 
his  companion's  delicate  fan  with  skill  and  care. 

22 


JOHN  WILSON  23 

They  were  opposite  types  of  the  nouveau  riche.  The 
woman  was  a  blatant  display  of  wealth,  vulgar  and  lavish, 
as  if  her  one  idea  were  to  make  the  world  gape  at  the 
amount  of  money  she  had  at  her  command. 

But  there  was  nothing  about  the  man  to  suggest  that 
he  had  more  than  an  average  income.  The  studs  in  his 
shirt  front  were  of  plain  gold,  and  a  corded  black  silk 
ribbon  took  the  place  of  a  watch  chain. 

Although  John  Wilson  had  striven  hard  to  attain 
money,  and  now  possessed  an  income  of  over  £10,000  a 
year,  he  did  not  love  wealth  for  its  own  sake,  or  use  it 
merely  to  make  a  display.  He  liked  it  because  it  brought 
within  his  reach  what  he  had  always  hankered  after,  and 
what,  until  five  or  six  years  ago,  had  been  denied  him — 
the  best.  He  had  a  taste  for  old  things — old  china,  old 
furniture,  old  houses,  old  wine,  and  old  families — prob- 
ably begotten  of  being  so  new  himself. 

The  few  members  of  what  he  in  his  own  mind  called 
"pedigree  stock"  who  had  crossed  his  path  had  proved 
disappointing.  There  were  one  or  two  broken-down  old 
families  in  the  town  who  mingled  with  the  rich  manu- 
facturers— families,  with  several  daughters,  who  he  knew 
encouraged  him  because  of  his  money.  But  the  daugh- 
ters in  no  way  resembled  the  princess  of  his  dreams.  Of 
the  choice  before  him — the  daughters  of  self-made  men 
and  the  daughters  of  the  poor  off-shoots  of  well-connected 
people — he  preferred  the  former ;  for  the  latter  seemed  to 
have  the  bad  points  of  both  classes  and  the  good  ones  of 
neither. 

However,  he  was  not  thinking  of  these  matters  at  that 
moment.  In  a  half -smiling,  tolerant,  quizzical  manner 
he  was  listening  to  his  hostess. 


24  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Well,  Mr.  Wilson,"  she  was  saying,  "it's  Christmas 
again,  and  you're  still  not  married." 

"If  I  remember  rightly,  Mrs.  Green,  every  Christmas 
Eve  for  the  last  seven  years  you've  made  the  same  remark 
to  me." 

"And  I  shall  go  on  making  it.  Every  man  ought  to  do 
his  bit  nowadays." 

He  smiled,  but  he  made  no  comment 

"You're  well  enough  off,  so  you  can't  make  that  excuse 
now,"  she  continued  in  a  lecturing  manner.  "You're  old 
enough — you're  thirty-three — so  that's  another  reason  you 
can't  put  forward  any  longer.  There  are  twenty  girls 
here  this  evening  who  would  marry  you  if  you  asked 
them.  And  then — there's  the  'man  shortage.' " 

"The  girl  I'd  like  isn't  here  to-night,"  he  said,  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes. 

"Who's  she?"  his  hostess  asked  quickly,  with  an  in- 
quisitive air. 

"The  right  one." 

"Get  along  with  you,"  she  said,  laughing.  "You're 
always  finding  some  excuse  for  shirking  your  duty.  I 
believe  the  real  truth  is  you  don't  care  tuppence  for 
women." 

Wilson  had  no  immediate  reply. 

At  that  moment,  vaguely  before  him  was  the  little 
phantom  friend  of  his  boyhood,  the  fairy  princess,  fragile, 
lovely,  and  high-born,  quite  different  from  the  merry, 
laughing,  pretty  girls  around  him. 

"Perhaps  I'm  not  a  family  man,"  he  suggested. 

"Every  man  says  that  until  he  has  a  family." 

Mrs.  Green  paused,  regarding  her  guest  thoughtfully. 

"I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Mr.  Wilson. 
You  stick  too  close  to  business." 


JOHN  WILSON  25 

He  laughed  good  humoredly. 

"If  I  hadn't  stuck  to  business  where  should  I  have 
been?"  he  asked. 

She  sighed,  and  a  wistful  look  passed  over  her  painted 
face. 

"There's  such  a  thing  as  too  much  money  for  people 
like  you  and  me,  who  were  brought  up  in  a  homely  way. 
Why  don't  you  take  a  real  holiday,  and  see  what  the 
world's  made  of?  I  doubt  if  you've  ever  put  a  foot 
outside  of  England." 

"I  once  spent  a  week  in  Paris." 

"On  business,  I'll  bet,"  she  said  quickly. 

"Guilty,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"Oh,  business !  You  men  never  think  of  anything  else. 
I'm  fed  up  with  it,"  she  said  impatiently. 

Then  she  turned  towards  him  with  a  motherly  air. 

"Look  here,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  hate  to  see  you 
going  the  way  of  Mr.  Green.  He's  not  happy  unless  he's 
got  the  din  of  the  factory  in  his  ears.  I'm  going  to  the 
south  of  France  for  three  months — to  Nice.  Why  don't 
you  go  there  for  a  few  weeks  and  see  how  other  people 
live?  It  would  do  you  a  world  of  good — get  you  out 
of  the  groove." 

With  shrewd,  kindly  eyes  Wilson  surveyed  his  hostess. 

"I  believe  you've  got  the  welfare  of  the  world  at  heart, 
although  you  make  such  a  pose  of  frivolity,"  he  remarked. 
"And  I'll  think  about  your  suggestion." 

Then  the  band  struck  up,  and,  excusing  himself, 
Wilson  went  off  in  search  of  his  next  partner. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  ENCOUNTER 

One  platform  of  the  Gare  de  Lyons  in  Paris  was 
crowded  with  people,  French  and  English,  going  south 
to  escape  the  winter,  or  seeing  friends  off. 

Outside  a  Pullman  carriage  Eugene  de  Gilbert  stood, 
talking  to  some  one  inside,  an  acquaintance  he  had  made 
during  the  last  week,  of  a  type  he  occasionally  picked  up 
— a  middle-aged  woman,  obviously  wealthy,  and  without 
male  belongings. 

Had  anyone  suggested  to  Mrs.  Green  that  Eugene  de 
Gilbert  had  deliberately  scraped  acquaintance  with  her 
she  would  have  been  most  indignant. 

For  the  last  fortnight  she  had  been  staying  at  one  of 
the  best  hotels  in  Paris,  a  place  where  royalty  could  often 
be  seen,  where  a  crowd  of  titled  people  went,  people  she 
knew  by  name  and  sight  through  seeing  their  photographs 
and  reading  about  them  in  the  many  fashion  and  society 
journals  to  which  she  subscribed. 

On  the  fringe  she  had  watched  them  enviously — a 
world  of  well-bred,  titled  people  that  she  knew  she  could 
never  enter. 

One  afternoon,  as  she  sat  in  the  palm  court,  overlooked 
by  waiters  in  spite  of  her  repeated  calls  for  tea,  an  elegant 
and  handsome  young  man  had  descended  from  that  giddy 
sphere.  He  had  seized  one  of  the  many  waiters,  brought 
him  to  Mrs.  Green's  table,  taken  him  to  task  for  neglect- 

26 


THE  ENCOUNTER  27 

ing  the  lady,  talked  in  a  friendly  manner  to  her  until  her 
tea  came,  and  then  with  a  bow  and  a  smile  he  had  gone 
back  to  his  own  world.  And  the  next  minute  he  was 
laughing  and  talking  with  dukes  and  duchesses,  lords  and 
ladies,  and  a  crowd  of  foreign  titles. 

At  lunch  the  next  day  he  had  given  her  a  bow  and  a 
pleasant  smile. 

That  night  there  had  been  a  diner  dansant.  He  had 
come  and  asked  her  if  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  a 
dance. 

Flushed  and  flattered  and  flustered  Mrs.  Green  had 
been  only  too  delighted  to  surrender  herself  to  arms  that 
had  embraced  duchesses. 

"You  have  the  true  dancing  figure,"  he  had  said,  as  his 
arm  encircled  her  plump  form. 

She  did  not  quite  know  what  the  "true  dancing  figure" 
was,  but  she  was  very  pleased  to  think  that  she  had  it. 

It  was  evident  that  the  young  man  was  French,  al- 
though he  spoke  excellent  English  in  a  cultured,  well- 
bred  voice.  Quite  casually  he  mentioned  that  his  father 
was  a  count. 

The  acquaintance  ripened,  until  Mrs.  Green's  head  was 
slightly  turned  by  the  compliments  and  flattery  of  Eugene 
de  Gilbert,  always  suave  of  tongue  in  the  presence  of  the 
fair  sex. 

Now,  on  the  seat  beside  her  lay  a  great  sheaf  of  carna- 
tions, this  fascinating  Monsieur  Gilbert's  parting  gift. 

It  was  years  since  anyone  had  given  her  flowers — out 
of  season,  as  it  were — merely  for  the  sake  of  giving  them, 
not  to  celebrate  some  anniversary. 

"How  sweet  of  you  to  have  brought  them,"  she  said 
in  an  infatuated  manner. 

"I  couldn't  let  you  go  without  some  memento  of  our 


28  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

delightful  acquaintance,"  he  answered,  smiling  in  a  frank, 
boyish  manner. 

"I  do  hope  we  shan't  quite  lose  sight  of  one  another." 

"I'm  coming  to  Nice  in  about  three  weeks  with  my 
father,"  he  replied,  "so  I  shall  look  forward  to  seeing 
you  there." 

"I  do  so  want  to  meet  your  father." 

Eugene's  smile  turned  to  a  wicked  grin,  which  he 
lowered  his  head  to  hide. 

"And  he's  equally  anxious  to  meet  you,"  he  assured  her. 

The  whistle  blew.  Mrs.  Green  extended  a  parting 
hand.  The  young  man  did  not  shake  it,  as  she  expected. 
He  put  his  lips  to  it  instead,  in  an  old-world,  deferential 
manner. 

The  train  moved  out,  leaving  Eugene  standing  bare- 
headed and  a  trifle  disconsolate-looking  on  the  platform. 
She  waved  until  he  was  out  of  sight;  then,  with  a  sigh, 
she  subsided  into  her  corner. 

When  the  train  was  out  of  the  station  she  drew  some 
letters  from  her  satchel  which  she  had  not  had  time  to 
read  sooner. 

Among  them  was  one  from  John  Wilson,  saying  he 
was  taking  her  advice.  He  had  decided  to  give  himself 
a  fortnight's  holiday — the  thorough  change  she  had 
recommended.  She  could  expect  him  in  Nice  in  about 
ten  days.  And  he  had  written  for  accommodation  to 
the  hotel  where  Mrs.  Green  had  said  she  would  be  staying. 


CHAPTER  III 
BASSINO  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE 

Combining  business  with  pleasure,  Manuel  Bassino 
sailed  from  Brazil  to  Lisbon,  timing  himself  to  arrive 
in  the  Portuguese  capital  a  fortnight  before  Desiree's 
twenty-first  birthday.  In  that  city  there  were  men  he 
wanted  to  see  and  money  matters  to  attend  to.  Once 
they  were  done  with,  he  would  go  by  rail  across  Portugal 
and  Spain  into  France,  arriving  at  Nice,  close  to  which 
his  prospective  bride  lived,  a  day  or  two  before  her 
twenty-first  birthday. 

He  would  have  a  special  license  with  him  and  marry 
her  at  once.  As  soon  as  possible  he  would  take  her  back 
to  Brazil,  wrest  her  from  the  clutch  of  her  uncle  and 
cousin. 

The  fifty  thousand  dollars  he  had  paid  for  her  had 
not  lasted  them  very  long.  It  was  their  look-out  if  they 
had  squandered  it  at  Monte  Carlo  soon  after  reaching 
Europe.  He  wasn't  going  to  finance  them  any  longer, 
once  the  girl  was  his.  But  it  was  just  as  well  to  keep 
in  their  good  graces  until  he  was  sure  of  her.  They  had 
had  another  ten  thousand  dollars  out  of  him.  Got  it  by 
a  sharp  trick,  too — by  making  out  Desiree  was  ill  and 
needed  all  sorts  of  special  treatment.  He  didn't  mind 
footing  her  bills — was  glad  of  the  chance,  in  fact.  But 
she  had  been  ill  so  often  that  he  had  smelt  a  rat. 

Instead  of  communicating  with  Desiree  through  her 

29 


30  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

uncle,  as  he  always  had  done  since  her  return  to  France, 
Bassino  had  sent  a  prepaid  cablegram  straight  to  the  girl 
herself  to  know  how  she  was,  and  he  had  heard  that  she 
had  never  been  ill. 

On  reaching  Europe,  he  found  it  disorganized  and 
uncomfortable.  He  had  not  been  abroad  since  the  war. 
Things  did  not  get  done  with  the  promptitude  to  which 
he  was  accustomed  in  Rio.  Nor  was  being  a  millionaire 
quite  so  unique  and  all-powerful  as  it  once  had  been. 
The  war  had  produced  a  whole  crop  of  them — so  many 
that  they  were  no  longer  awe-inspiring. 

Bassino  fussed  and  fumed  and  raged,  but,  in  spite  of 
the  commotion  he  made,  the  Lisbon  deal  which  he  had 
hoped  to  complete  in  a  week  could  not  be  finished  before 
the  end  of  a  fortnight.  It  was  a  matter  of  a  million 
dollars.  Although  deeply  in  love,  common  sense  pointed 
out  that  the  girl  could  wait,  but  the  money  would  not. 

So  he  stayed  in  Lisbon  to  complete  his  transactions, 
iu  the  grip  of  two  passions — his  love  of  gold  and  his 
love  of  Desiree;  when  money  was  not  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  brooding  on  the  girl  whose  beauty  had  inflamed 
him,  whose  innocence  had  him  in  thrall. 

She  was  a  catch,  even  for  a  man  like  himself  with  a 
mint  of  money ;  a  girl  with  a  title,  and  young  and  lovely 
into  the  bargain.  True,  there  was  a  flaw,  but  even  that 
might  be  rectified.  That  old  fox,  her  uncle,  had  never 
spent  a  cent  on  her.  Once  they  were  married  he  would 
have  the  matter  seen  into.  She  had  cost  him  a  pretty 
penny,  his  little  thoroughbred,  but  you  can't  get  a  good 
thing  without  paying  for  it,  and,  so  long  as  he  got  her, 
that  was  all  he  cared. 

Always  Bassino  was  haunted  by  the  feeling  that 
Desiree  might  slip  through  his  fingers.  How  she  could 


BASSINO  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE  31 

he  did  not  know.  Everyone  was  on  his  side  except  the 
girl,  and  she  did  not  count. 

He  wished  she  did  count  a  little  more — that  she  did 
not  so  openly  show  her  fear  and  dislike  of  him.  But 
she  was  not  used  to  men.  Once  they  were  married  it 
would  be  all  right.  Marriage  made  all  the  difference. 
Just  falling  in  love  with  her  had  made  all  the  difference 
to  him;  he  had  not  looked  at  another  woman  since,  and 
was  learning  to  talk  and  behave  like  a  gentleman.  And 
marriage  for  her  meant  endless  money — for  a  girl  who 
hadn't  a  cent  to  bless  herself  with.  Yet  she  was  proud, 
in  spite  of  her  frightened  baby  ways. 

Well,  he  didn't  mind  her  pride,  even  if  it  was  turned 
on  him.  He  would  be  her  husband.  She  would  have  to 
swallow  that  fact  before  very  long.  The  husband  of  the 
Countess  de  Mailly!  Wouldn't  Rio  stare!  There  was 
not  a  girl  in  the  place  to  touch  her,  and  she  was  nothing 
now  to  the  beauty  she  would  be  when  properly  dressed, 
and  fed,  and  looked  after.  Perhaps  even  cured! 

So  Bassino's  thoughts  ran  when  he  got  them  off  money- 
making. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  his  business  satisfactorily 
concluded,  he  left  Lisbon  in  quest  of  his  bride.  He 
crossed  Portugal  and  Spain,  eventually  reaching  the 
French  border. 

There  an  uncomfortable  surprise  awaited  him.  An 
unexpected  railway  strike  had  broken  out.  There  were 
no  trains  running. 

"I'm  a  millionaire,"  he  pompously  informed  a  flurried 
official  at  the  border  station.  "I  don't  mind  what  I  pay. 
So  get  me  a  special  train." 

"You  can  have  every  train  in  the  depot  for  all  I  care," 
the  official  replied,  "but  all  the  drivers  are  out  on  strike." 


32  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Well,  then,  get  me  an  automobile,"  Bassino  exclaimed, 
still  believing  implicitly  in  the  power  of  money. 

"I'll  get  you  a  dozen  if  you  like,  but  there's  no  petrol 
to  run  them  with." 

Then  Bassino  started  to  rage. 

He  was  not  the  only  one  raging.  The  strike  had  left 
the  Count  de  Gilbert  in  Paris,  unable  to  reach  his  niece 
on  her  twenty-first  birthday  and  "take  charge  of"  her 
heritage,  as  he  had  always  promised. 

It  also  left  John  Wilson  in  Nice,  his  fortnight's  holiday 
all  but  expired.  But  he  was  not  raging.  He  loved  the 
sunny,  fruitful  land  to  which  he  had  come.  A  few  days 
more  there  did  not  worry  him.  And  if  things  were  not 
settled  in  a  week  or  two,  well,  he  had  his  car  with  him, 
and  the  promise  of  enough  petrol  to  get  him  back  to  Paris. 

And  it  found  Desiree  de  Mailly  alone  in  her  home, 
without  any  relatives  with  whom  to  celebrate  her  coming 
of  age,  in  sole  possession  of  "The  Necklace  of  Tears," 
a  family  heirloom  that  her  uncle  had  given  her  to  under- 
stand was  worth  only  about  £1,000,  and  which  he  had  told 
his  son  was  worth  nearly  £200,000! 


CHAPTER  IV 
CHATEAU  DE  MAILLY 

Away  in  the  mountains  at  the  back  of  Nice  an  old 
red-roofed  chateau  stood,  a  long,  flat  building  in  the  last 
stage  of  dilapidation.  It  was  three  stories  high,  once 
pink-washed  and  painted  with  an  elaborate  fresco.  Now 
almost  all  the  plaster  had  fallen  off  the  walls,  revealing 
rough  gray  stones  beneath.  At  one  end  a  large  square 
tower  stood.  On  the  sea  side  it  was  open  and  edged 
with  marble  balustrades — a  delightful  spot  on  a  hot  day. 
Most  of  the  roof  had  fallen  in.  Weeds  grew  between 
the  mosaic  of  its  floor,  and  bats  found  a  refuge  among 
the  rafters. 

In  front,  along  the  whole  length  of  the  dwelling,  a 
wide  terrace  ran.  Around  the  balustrades  a  profusion 
of  roses  rioted,  and  a  great  spreading  loquat-tree  shaded 
one  corner. 

A  dozen  French  windows  led  out  on  to  the  terrace, 
their  long  green  shutters  mostly  broken  and  askew. 
Beneath  the  terrace  were  cave-like  rooms,  an  expanse  of 
cellars  running  right  under  the  house.  Nearly  all  the 
doors  were  broken,  or  had  disappeared  entirely.  In  the 
dim  depths  were  old  olive  oil  and  wine  presses,  huge 
broken  vats  in  which  the  produce  had  once  been  stored, 
and  racks  for  drying  raisins  and  figs.  But  spiders  and 
other  creeping  things  reigned  supreme  there  now. 

From  the  terrace  hardly  a  habitable  house  could  be 

33 


34  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

seen.  There  were  the  ruins  of  half  a  dozen  within  a  two- 
mile  radius,  even  more  dilapidated  than  the  chateau  itself. 
It  and  its  crumbling  satellites  were  shut  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  world  by  rounded  hills  and  deep  valleys,  orange, 
lemon,  and  olive  groves,  and  dense  patches  of  pine  wood. 
Beyond  a  wide  bowlder-strewn  valley,  a  straight  wall  of 
gray  mountain  rose,  like  a  huge  cloud  on  the  horizon. 
Above  it  snow-clad  peaks  towered,  white  and  glittering 
against  the  azure  sky.  The  sloping  hills  around  had  once 
been  terraced  for  cultivation,  but  nothing  grew  there  now 
except  grass  and  weeds. 

There  were  neglected  vineyards,  so  long  untended  that 
the  stumpy  little  bushes  were  utterly  ruined,  a  mass  of 
useless,  twisted  brown  trailers,  just  sprouting  young  green 
leaves. 

In  spite  of  the  bright  sunshine,  the  wealth  of  flowers 
and  fruitful  trees,  an  air  of  dire  poverty  brooded  over  the 
place.  The  old  stone  irrigation  tanks  which  dotted  the 
hillsides  spoke  of  it ;  they  were  broken  and  decayed,  filled 
with  slime  and  water  weeds,  the  homes  of  a  multitude  of 
frogs.  The  grassy  terraces  themselves  told  the  same 
story.  Years  had  passed  since  they  had  been  dug  and 
hoed  and  planted,  producing  the  food  a  hungry  world 
needed  so  badly.  The  chateau  itself  carried  on  the  pitiful 
tale ;  a  generation  at  least  had  passed  since  paint  or  plas- 
ter had  been  laid  on  it,  since  shutter  or  window  had  been 
repaired. 

Under  the  shade  of  the  great  loquat-tree  the  remnants 
of  some  old  iron  garden  furniture  stood,  bent  and  battered, 
eaten  into  holes  with  rust. 

On  one  of  the  chairs  Desiree  de  Mailly  was  sitting,  a 
ball  of  white  wool  on  her  knee,  a  length  of  knitting  in  her 
hands. 


CHATEAU  DE  MAILLY  35 

By  her  side  an  old  woman  stood,  bent  and  work-worn. 
From  a  paper  she  was  reading  out  some  instructions 
regarding  the  woolen  garment  the  girl  was  making. 

A  sound  on  the  weed-grown  gravel  drive  made  the  old 
woman  stop  suddenly. 

"What  can  that  be?"  she  asked,  with  the  air  of  one  to 
whom  the  unexpected  rarely  happens. 

"It  sounds  like  a  bicycle,"  Desiree  said. 

A  few  moments  later  a  boy  came  up  the  marble  steps. 
In  his  hand  were  two  telegrams  addressed  to  "Mile,  la 
Comtesse  de  Mailly." 

The  old  servant  took  and  opened  them.  She  read  the 
contents  through  to  herself  and  then  dismissed  the  boy. 

"What  is  it,  Juliette?"  the  girl  asked. 

"One  is  a  telegram  from  your  fiance,  Monsieur  Bassino. 
He  regrets  that  the  railway  strike  has  delayed  him.  But 
he  will  come  as  soon  as  he  can  possibly  get  here.  The 
other  is  from  your  uncle.  He  and  Monsieur  Eugene  are 
coming  by  motor  from  Paris.  I'm  sure  no  one  wants  to 
see  them,"  she  added  sourly. 

Desiree  did  not  notice  this  comment  about  her  uncle 
and  cousin.  Other  matters  filled  her  mind.  Mr.  Bassino 
was  coming  to  claim  her,  a  horror  which  had  been  hang- 
ing over  her  for  the  last  fifteen  months. 

"If  only  I  didn't  have  to  marry  him,"  she  wailed. 

"You'll  be  better  with  him  than  with  them,  ma  petite. 
At  least  he  loves  you,"  Juliette  said,  with  an  air  of  making 
the  best  of  a  bad  job. 

"I  don't  want  his  love,"  Desiree  said  wildly. 

"But,  Comtesse,  you  must  marry  some  time,  or  what 
will  happen  to  you  when  I  am  gone?  The  flowers  will 
be  as  fragrant,  and  the  birds  will  sing  as  sweetly,  in 
Monsieur  Bassino's  country  as  here." 


36  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"I  want  to  stay  here.  I  don't  want  ever  to  have  to  go 
away  again,"  the  child  cried. 

Then  her  head  dropped  on  the  table,  and  she  wept 
bitterly. 

Juliette  laid  her  hand  on  the  thin,  bowed  shoulders. 

"There  will  be  no  more  dinner  of  cabbage  soup,  no 
more  breakfasts  of  black  coffee  and  dry  bread,  if  you 
marry  this  rich  monsieur  from  Brazil.  There  will  be 
cakes  and  chocolates  all  day  long.  And  he  will  buy  you 
a  piano  and  take  you  to  concerts,  and  you  know  you 
would  love  that." 

The  old  woman  spoke  as  if  to  a  tiny  girl,  who,  with 
promises  of  sweets  and  toys,  must  be  bribed  into  doing 
something  she  did  not  want  to  do. 

But  Desiree  refused  to  be  comforted.  She  remained 
with  her  arms  on  the  rusty  iron  table,  her  face  hidden  in 
them,  weeping  helplessly. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  married,"  she  sobbed.  "I  don't  like 
men.  I  can't  bear  Mr.  Bassino.  I  shiver  when  he 
touches  me.  I  hate  him  to  kiss  me." 

Juliette  was  used  to  these  storms ;  they  always  came  at 
the  mention  of  the  Comtesse's  fiance.  But  he  was  rich, 
and  in  her  peasant  mind  that  was  everything. 

"Hush,  ma  petite,"  she  crooned,  the  girl's  head  held 
lovingly  against  her  chest.  "It  is  far  better  that  you 
should  be  married.  Every  day  things  here  grow  dearer 
and  Hfe  more  hard.  And  if  you  ask  monsieur  your  fiance, 
he  will  let  old  Juliette  come  with  you  to  his  country." 

"Do  you  think  he  will  ?"  Desiree  asked,  joy  pictured  on 
her  face. 

"Of  course  he  will,  my  jewel,  if  you  ask  him  nicely." 

"It  might  not  be  so  dreadful  if  you  were  there,"  the 
girl  whispered,  a  trifle  consoled. 


CHATEAU  DE  MAILLY  37 

Juliette  said  nothing  more  on  the  matter.  She  kissed 
and  petted  her  charge  until  the  tears  were  dried  and  a 
weary  head  lay  against  her  shoulder. 

"Now,"  she  said  briskly,  once  the  storm  was  over, 
"Wolf  shall  take  you  for  a  walk,  since  Fm  too  busy  to 
go." 

Picking  up  the  two  telegrams,  she  shuffled  off  into  the 
house,  leaving  Desiree  hopelessly  resigned  to  what  the 
future  had  in  store  for  her. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  CHANCE  MEETING 

Along  a  narrow  mountain  road  Wilson  was  walking. 
He  did  not  quite  know  why  he  was  walking  when  he 
had  his  motor  down  in  Nice.  That  afternoon  an  unusual 
restlessness  had  driven  him  out  of  his  hotel.  He  had 
taken  the  first  electric  car  that  came  along.  When  he 
had  reached  its  destination  he  had  walked  on  and  on,  with 
the  strange  feeling  that  he  was  walking  towards  his  fate. 
He  did  not  encourage  the  idea.  It  was  too  absurd  for  a 
shrewd  business  man  who  had  made  his  money  in  iron. 

He  had  climbed  upwards  out  of  a  narrow  valley,  along 
a  hillside  dotted  with  villas  set  among  palms  and  orange 
groves.  He  had  passed  groups  of  olives  and  clumps  of 
lemon  and  fig-trees,  pursuing  a  narrow  white  road  that 
crawled  along  the  top  of  a  low  mountain. 

Behind,  a  sparkling  sapphire  framed  by  tropic  trees, 
was  the  Mediterranean.  Ahead,  a  great  range  of  snow- 
clad  heights,  flanked  on  either  side  by  lower  gray  ranges, 
thrust  glittering  peaks  into  an  azure  sky ;  a  semi-circle  of 
mountains  that  shut  out  the  everyday  world,  and  left  him 
alone  with  an  expanse  of  folded  hills  and  hidden  valleys. 

Here  and  there  quaint,  red-tiled  dwellings  dotted  the 
landscape,  set  among  olives  and  pines,  with  an  occasional 
towering  cypress.  Prickly  aloes  and  pink  roses  formed 
the  hedgerows.  Stumpy  vines  grew  on  the  terraced  hill- 
sides. Every  now  and  again  the  scene  was  a  mosaic  of 
pink  and  yellow  and  white  and  crimson,  the  growths  of 
some  little  flower  farm. 

38 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  39 

The  air  would  be  heavy  with  the  scent  of  pines,  roses, 
and  orange  blossom.  Then  a  bend  in  the  road  would 
sweep  it  all  away,  and  the  wind  would  bring  the  pure, 
cold  breath  of  the  snow-clad  mountains. 

Wilson  strode  along  briskly,  a  broad,  powerful  figure 
in  gray  Harris  tweed,  with  a  panama  hat  pulled  well  on 
his  head.  As  he  proceeded,  the  road  grew  more  and  more 
deserted.  It  seemed  to  him  he  had  the  world  to  himself, 
a  world  of  peace  and  beauty,  which  for  years  lack  of 
money  had  placed  beyond  his  reach,  until  he  had  almost 
forgotten  he  had  ever  wanted  it. 

He  was  just  thinking  this  when  a  girl  appeared  around 
a  bend  in  the  road.  She  was  walking  slowly,  and  on  a 
lead  she  had  a  gaunt,  wolf-like  hound,  one  of  the  German 
police  dogs  that  have  become  so  numerous  in  France  since 
the  war. 

However,  Wilson  had  no  eyes  for  the  dog,  only  for 
the  girl.  She  looked  about  sixteen  or  seventeen,  a  slender, 
fragile  child.  Beneath  a  halo  of  golden  hair  large  misty 
blue  eyes  were  set,  vague  and  haunting,  heavy  with 
tragedy.  Her  face  was  thin  and  ethereal,  with  a  look 
on  it  that  wrung  his  heart. 

In  his  early  days  that  look  had  been  on  his  mother's 
face,  when  she  had  half-starved  herself  so  that  her 
thoughtless  cub  should  not  feel  the  nip  of  hunger — a  look 
he  had  removed  before  he  was  fourteen,  and  by  the  time 
he  was  sixteen  he  had  given  her  comfort ;  for  the  last  five 
years  of  her  life,  until  her  death  eighteen  months  ago, 
luxury. 

Wilson  had  seen  such  sad,  wistful,  innocent  little  faces 
in  pictures  of  the  Annunciation.  The  girl  was  a  wraith 
of  beauty,  fit  only  for  a  dream.  A  dream  she  had  been 
to  the  man  until  that  moment ;  now  he  saw  his  ideal  em- 
bodied. 


)  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  Wilson  stopped  abruptly. 
His  sodden  bah  made  the  dog  bark  in  a  savage,  men- 
manner.    "Wolf!    Wolf!"  a  soft  voice  said,  with 
a  note  of  chiding. 

The  bound  quieted  immediately.     For  a  moment  the 
girl  turned  her  face  in  Wilson's  direction  —  a  timid, 
Then  she  passed  on,  leaving  him 
after  her. 
He  matched  her  go,  wondering  what  she  was  doing  in 


Much  as  he  desired,  he  could  not  follow  her  and  say  : 

"Princess,  all  my  life  I've  had  your  image  enshrined 
in  my  heart  I've  loved  you  wholly  and  truly,  to  the 
exclusion  of  aO  other  women." 

He  could  only  stand  and  stare  after  her,  held  fast  by 
a  civilization  and  ctmmtm  sense  that  forbade  him  making 
any  such  confession  to  an  unknown  person. 

At  a  safe  distance  he  followed  her,  determined  to  find 
out  whence  she  came  and  scrape  acquaintance  somehow. 
He  no  longer  saw  the  beauty  of  his  surroundings  ;  be  saw 
nothing  now  but  the  fragile  loveliness  of  his  ideal. 

He  could  visualize  every  point  of  her.  He  knew  she 
was  dressed  in  white  —  a  short-sleeved,  low-necked,  one- 
piece  garment  with  a  narrow  edging  of  red,  with  a  loose 
red  patent  leather  belt  about  her  waist  She  wore  white 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  a  tittle  white  hat  with  an  up- 
turned brim,  split  at  each  side.  Through  the  splits  red 
cherries  dangled  about  her  ears. 

Life  had  bcouglu  Wilson  a  fair  idea  of  the  price  of 
everything.  Although  the  girl  was  dressed  with  taste  and 
style,  her  dothes  were  not  expensive.  There  were  no 
bracelets  on  her  $*******•  arms,  no  rings  on  her  fingers. 

Keeping  her  in  sight,  he  followed  slowly,  oblivious  of 
everything  except  the  slim  figure  ahead. 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  41 

An  expected  rumble  of  thunder  brought  him  to  his 
senses.  He  looked  round  sharply. 

The  snow-clad  mountains  wore  a  mantle  of  black 
clouds.  Over  the  sea  others  were  rising  swiftly.  There 
was  a  long,  low  sough  in  the  air.  The  dust  started  to 
blow  in  spirals.  The  trees  moved  in  the  fretful  manner 
that  portended  a  storm. 

The  one  growl  of  thunder  made  the  girl  turn.  She 
started  to  retrace  her  steps,  the  dog  straining  at  the  lead. 

Wilson  halted  and  awaited  her  coming. 

She  had  nearly  reached  him  when  there  was  another 
peal  of  thunder,  much  closer  at  hand. 

With  a  little  cry  of  alarm  she  halted. 

In  all  his  life  Wilson  had  never  missed  an  opportunity, 
and  he  had  no  intention  of  missing  the  present  one. 

Raising  his  hat,  he  went  forward. 

'There's  going  to  be  a  pretty  bad  storm,"  he  said. 
"You'd  be  wise  to  seek  shelter." 

Wilson's  voice  was  his  great  point:  it  was  firm  and 
pleasant  and  kind. 

When  he  spoke  she  started.  Then  she  turned  towards 
him  with  a  helpless  gesture. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said  quickly.    "But  where  can  I  go?'' 

He  rejoiced  to  find  she  could  speak  English,  since  his 
knowledge  of  French  was  most  limited. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  understand  English,"  he  said.  "I 
only  know  about  three  words  of  French." 

She  did  not  hear  him.  There  was  a  blinding  flash  of 
lightning,  followed  immediately  by  a  crashing  roar  of 
thunder  that  shook  the  world. 

The  sound  brought  a  moan  of  fear  to  her  lips,  and 
the  dog's  lead  dropped  from  her  hand. 

Close  by  there  was  a  barn. 

Seeing  that  the  girl  was  almost  frightened  out  of  her 


42  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

wits,  Wilson  seized  her  arm  and  drew  her  into  the  shelter. 

They  were  scarcely  inside  when  there  was  an  even  more 
terrifying  crash,  that  made  her  hide  her  face  in  her  hands 
as  if  paralyzed  with  terror. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  he  said  soothingly. 
"It'll  soon  be  over." 

''It's  the  noise,"  she  moaned,  "the  dreadful  noise.  It 
always  frightens  me." 

It  took  more  than  noise  to  upset  Wilson's  nerves, 
hardened  as  they  were  by  years  spent  in  an  iron  foundry, 
and  he  blessed  the  storm  that  had  brought  his  ideal 
trembling  to  his  side. 

Presently  a  deep  gray  shadow  swept  over  the  earth. 
With  a  rush  and  roar  the  rain  came,  seeming  to  wash  the 
thunder  away,  for  it  retreated  rapidly,  grumbling  and 
growling  in  the  distance. 

"There's  nothing  more  to  be  afraid  of,"  he  said  when 
the  noise  had  abated  somewhat. 

"It's  very  stupid  of  me  to  be  so  afraid,  but  I  always  am 
of  thunder." 

After  that  there  was  silence  for  a  time. 

Wilson  seemed  transfixed  by  the  sight  of  the  girl, 
hardly  able  to  credit  that  at  last  she  stood  before  him,  the 
little  phantom  friend  of  his  boyhood  days,  the  princess  of 
his  mother's  fairy  tale,  golden  hair,  blue  eyes,  alabaster 
skin,  rose-leaf  hands  and  all.  But  that  princess  had  not 
been  dressed  in  a  cotton  frock  and  the  cheapest  of  white 
shoes  and  stockings.  She  had  always  worn  a  silk  dress, 
a  cloak  of  ermine,  a  diamond  necklace,  and  a  golden 
crown  upon  her  dainty  head. 

His  silence,  or  perhaps  instinctively  aware  of  the  ad- 
miration he  had  for  her,  alarmed  the  girl.  Presently  she 
called,  "Wolf !  Wolf !"  in  an  agitated  voice,  although  the 
animal  was  standing  only  a  few  yards  away. 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  43 

At  once  the  dog  was  at  her  side,  thrusting  its  nose  into 
her  hand. 

"What  a  splendid  beast  he  is,"  Wilson  remarked. 

"I  was  so  afraid  he  might  have  deserted  me,"  she  said 
nervously,  as  she  stooped  and  took  the  lead. 

"It  would  never  do  for  you  to  go  about  in  this  lonely 
part  without  some  sort  of  a  guardian." 

Her  lips  opened,  as  if  to  make  some  confession,  but 
they  closed  again  with  the  words  unspoken.  Then  she 
said  a  word  to  the  dog,  and  made  towards  the  door. 

The  rain  was  pouring  down  in  a  solid  sheet,  filling  the 
place  with  its  roar. 

"You  can't  go  out,"  he  said  quickly. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  the  rain." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  there's  no  sense  in  getting  wet  to 
the  skin.  You  mustn't  think  of  going  until  it's  over, 
which  won't  be  long  now." 

At  that  moment  Wilson's  voice  was  kinder  than  usual, 
for  his  one  desire  was  to  put  the  girl  at  her  ease. 

In  some  degree  he  succeeded.  Although  she  moved 
farther  away  from  him,  she  did  not  attempt  to  leave 
the  barn. 

Presently  he  fetched  a  box  from  the  back  of  the  shed. 

"You'd  better  sit  down,"  he  remarked,  on  placing  it 
beside  her.  "The  rain  doesn't  seem  like  stopping  yet." 

In  a  shy  voice  she  thanked  him.  But  she  did  not  sit 
down  at  once.  She  felt  for  the  box,  as  if  to  make  sure 
it  were  really  there.  Then  she  seated  herself. 

The  dog  put  its  head  on  her  knee,  and  continued  looking 
up  at  her  with  worshipping  eyes. 

Time  passed,  but  the  deluge  showed  no  sign  of  abating. 
The  girt  did  not  look  in  Wilson's  direction  and  her  silence 
was  unbroken. 

He  lingered  at  her  side,  hoping  she  would  make  some 


44  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

comment.  She  had  not  ventured  a  remark  on  her  own 
account.  The  only  one  she  had  seemed  like  making  had 
died  unspoken  on  her  lips. 

With  the  idea  of  finding  some  clue  to  her  identity, 
surreptitiously  he  studied  the  dog's  collar,  thinking  her 
name  and  address  might  be  there.  On  the  tiny  brass 
plate  he  saw  engraved :  "Desiree  de  Mailly,  Domaine  de 
Mailly." 

Was  she  Desiree  de  Mailly,  this  ideal  of  his  heart, 
desired  by  him  more  than  anything  that  had  come  into 
his  life? 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  Miss  de  Mailly?"  he  inquired 
presently. 

At  his  question  she  started. 

"Who  told  you  my  name?"  she  asked,  a  quiver  of  alarm 
in  her  voice. 

"I've  just  read  it  on  Wolf's  collar." 

There  was  a  further  silence. 

Wilson  had  never  met  a  girl  so  high-strung  and  nervous. 
Each  time  he  spoke  she  started ;  at  his  every  little  move- 
ment a  wave  of  fear  passed  over  her  face,  as  if  she  lived 
constantly  in  a  state  of  terror. 

He  was  not  usually  at  a  loss  for  conversation,  but 
having  at  last  before  him  the  wraith  of  his  ideal  deprived 
him  of  his  flow  of  small  talk.  But  a  moment  later  he 
pulled  himself  together,  and  talked  on  any  and  every 
trivial  subject  that  entered  his  head.  It  was  uphill  work, 
however,  her  replies  rarely  being  beyond  monosyllables. 

As  the  rain  went  on  it  grew  rapidly  colder. 

Anxiously  Wilson  watched  the  drooping  figure  on  the 
box.  A  woolen  costume  was  the  sort  of  garment  for  a 
day  like  this,  not  a  thin  cotton  frock. 

He  saw  the  slender  arms  rapidly  lose  their  smoothness, 
getting  red  and  "goose-fleshy"  with  cold,  and  finally  a 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  45 

mottled  blue.  Yet  she  never  once  said  how  cold  it  was, 
or  made  any  complaint,  as  would  have  been  but  natural 
under  the  circumstances.  She  sat  and  endured  in  silence, 
as  if  endurance  were  part  and  parcel  of  her  life ;  as  if  her 
fate  were  not  in  her  own  hands,  and  she  knew  nothing  she 
could  say  or  do  would  alter  it. 

Wilson  felt  he  must  hold  her  against  his  heart  and 
warm  her,  this  wan  little  phantom  of  his  ideal  who  had 
lived  there  for  so  long. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  finding  it  very  cold  in  this  drafty 
shed,"  he  said  presently. 

"Yes,  yes,  perhaps  I  am.  But  it  doesn't  matter,"  she 
answered,  as  if  life  were  such  a  tragedy  that  mere  per- 
sonal discomforts  were  of  no  consequence. 

He  felt  that  in  the  same  soft,  sad,  resigned,  helpless 
little  voice  she  would  have  agreed  she  was  miserable,  or 
hungry,  or  tired,  as  if  she  were  surprised  that  anyone 
should  trouble  to  remark  upon  these  facts  when  there 
were  such  greater  troubles  in  her  life. 

But  when  she  started  to  shiver  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  There  was  something  too  pathetic  in  her  silent 
endurance.  Without  a  word  he  stripped  off  his  coat  and 
wrapped  it  about  her  shoulders. 

At  his  touch  a  stifled  gasp  of  alarm  escaped  her  lips, 
to  be  choked  back  the  moment  she  felt  the  warmth  of  his 
coat  around  her. 

"I  can't  have  you  sitting  here  shivering,"  he  said  firmly. 

"But  won't  you  be  cold  ?" 

"The  lack  of  my  coat  won't  worry  me,"  he  answered. 
"There  was  a  time  in  my  life  when  I  always  went  about 
in  shirt  sleeves." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  trouble  about  me,"  she  said. 

Something  in  her  reply  told  him  that  kindness  rarely 
came  her  way. 


46  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

More  than  ever  he  wondered  who  could  find  it  in  their 
hearts  to  be  anything  but  gentle  and  considerate  with  such 
a  girl. 

"I  could  hardly  let  you  sit  and  shiver,  could  I?"  he 
remarked. 

To  this  she  had  no  reply.  She  drew  his  coat  closer 
round  her.  Then  she  ventured  her  first  comment. 

"Wolf  doesn't  growl  at  you,"  she  said,  as  if  the  fact 
were  rather  surprising. 

"Why  should  he?    He  knows  I'm  quite  harmless." 

"He  growls  at — at  most  of  the  men  I  know,"  she 
replied. 

The  reply  made  Wilson  move  a  step  closer  to  this  child 
who  lived  under  a  cloud  of  fear,  and  who  talked  to  him  as 
if  she  were  twelve  years  old,  not  the  seventeen  she  looked. 

This  time  his  movements  did  not  make  her  start  and 
tremble.  She  just  sat  with  her  eyes  downcast,  fondling 
the  dog's  head. 

Again  there  was  silence — a  silence  that  lasted  nearly 
half  an  hour — and  still  the  rain  showed  no  sign  of  abating. 

Presently  Desiree  rose  to  go,  and  again  Wilson's  voice 
stopped  her. 

"You  mustn't  think  of  going  out  now,"  he  said. 

"But  Juliette  will  be  wondering  what  has  happened 
to  me." 

"If  Juliette  has  any  sense  she'll  know  you  must  have 
sheltered." 

At  his  remark  she  seated  herself  again.  It  seemed  to 
WTilson  he  had  only  a  child  to  deal  with.  He  had  but  to 
speak  and  she  obeyed,  as  if  she  were  accustomed  to  other 
people  making  up  her  mind  for  her. 

The  shadows  started  to  thicken.  Evening  came  early, 
brought  by  the  banked  clouds  overhead. 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  47 

"It'll  be  dark  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  commented 
presently. 

A  willful  smile  crossed  her  face,  but  she  said  nothing. 

Darkness  approached  rapidly,  filling  the  barn  with 
gloomy  shadows.  With  its  coming  the  rain  abated  some- 
what. 

Desiree  rose.  Taking  his  coat  from  her  shoulders  she 
held  it  towards  him. 

"It's  not  raining  so  much  now,"  she  said. 

This  time  Wilson  did  not  attempt  to  stop  her.  They 
could  not  stay  there  all  night. 

"Your  dress  will  be  wet  through  in  no  time,"  he  com- 
mented. "You  must  have  my  coat  to  go  home  in." 

"Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  she  said  quickly. 

Wilson  was  used  to  having  his  own  way.  Taking  the 
coat,  he  wrapped  it  round  her  again,  with  his  big  hands 
guiding  the  slim,  bare  arms  into  the  sleeves.  He  felt  the 
girl  quiver  at  his  touch,  a  quiver  that  thrilled  him. 

He  buttoned  the  coat  and  turned  up  the  collar,  thus 
enveloping  her  in  stout  tweed  from  neck  to  knee.  After 
the  first  little  objection  she  stood  quite  still  and  let  him 
do  as  he  wished,  a  helpless  obedience  that  puzzled  him. 

The  coat  seemed  to  have  brought  her  some  of  the 
strength  and  power  of  its  owner,  as  well  as  the  combined 
odors  of  heather,  tar,  sea,  and  smoke  that  go  with  Harris 
tweed,  for  she  said  with  an  air  of  decision: 

"You  can't  go  all  the  way  back  to  Nice  without  your 
coat." 

"How  do  you  know  I  come  from  Nice?" 

"All  English  people  do,"  she  replied. 

"Then  you  must  be  from  there  yourself." 

"No,  I'm  French." 

"But  you  speak  English  perfectly." 

"I  was  in  America  for  some  time." 


48  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"Will  you  come  with  me  ?"  she  went  on  timidly.  "It's 
only  about  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  here.  If  you  care 
to  stay  for  dinner,  perhaps  it  will  be  fine  afterwards." 

The  one  thing  Wilson  wanted  was  a  closer  acquain- 
tance. He  jumped  at  the  invitation. 

"We  must  start  at  once,"  she  said.  "The  rain  is  holding 
up  a  little  now,  but  it  may  come  on  as  bad  as  ever  in  a 
few  minutes." 

Desiree  said  a  few  words  in  French  to  the  dog,  and 
it  made  at  once  towards  the  door. 

As  they  left  the  barn,  because  the  girl  looked  so  weary 
and  drooping,  Wilson  drew  her  arm  through  his,  in  a 
firm,  careful,  decided  manner,  as  though  he  meant  it  to 
stay,  and  she  let  it  stay  there,  as  if  glad  of  his  strength 
to  support  her. 

Outside  it  was  all  but  dark;  a  thick  gloom  through 
which  great  raindrops  spattered,  quickly  soaking  his  shirt. 
This  did  not  worry  him ;  his  coat  was  keeping  the  princess 
dry.  The  hound  hurried  on,  straining  at  the  lead. 

"Wolf  seems  in  a  mighty  hurry  to  get  home,"  he 
commented 

"He  knows  we  are  late  and  that  Juliette  will  scold  him," 
she  answered. 

It  seemed  to  the  man  that  he  moved  in  heaven.  He  did 
not  know  he  was  wet  and  cold — cold  with  the  bone- 
piercing  chill  that  often  comes  on  the  Mediterranean  after 
sunset.  He  only  knew  that  his  little  phantom  friend  who 
had  lived  in  his  heart  so  long  was  there,  walking  beside 
him,  at  last  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Darkness  had  fallen  when  broken  iron  gates  were 
reached,  leading  up  to  what  looked  to  be  a  narrow,  weed- 
grown  lane. 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  49 

Desiree  stooped  and  loosened  the  dog,  who,  after  cir- 
cling round  with  barks  of  delight,  darted  off  into  the 
night. 

"Why  have  you  let  him  go  just  when  we  need  him 
most?"  Wilson  asked,  wondering  how  they  were  going 
to  grope  their  way  along,  for  he  could  not  see  a  yard 
ahead  of  him. 

A  small  hand  was  slipped  through  his  arm  again. 

"We're  nearly  there  now,"  she  replied,  "and  I  can  find 
my  way  up  here  with  my  eyee  shut." 

Then  she  laughed,  as  if  at  some  dreary  little  joke  of 
her  own. 

Wilson  certainly  wondered  how  she  found  her  way. 
He  knew  they  passed  up  a  narrow,  twisted  path  lined 
with  trees,  for  he  heard  the  wind  soughing  in  their  tops 
and  the  creak  of  their  branches.  Now  and  again  he 
splashed  through  deep  puddles.  Occasionally  a  bough 
swept  his  sodden  garments,  soaking  him  still  further  with 
its  weight  of  moisture. 

"We're  there  now,"  she  said  presently. 

Wilson  could  still  see  only  blackness.  He  stumbled 
up  some  stone  steps,  guided  by  the  hand  on  his  sleeve. 
Somewhere  he  heard  the  dog  barking.  Around,  wooden 
shutters  creaked  and  groaned  and  slammed  in  the  wind. 
He  could  feel  a  house  looming  over  him,  but  there  was 
not  a  light  anywhere  in  it;  only  a  blank  stretch  of  solid 
darkness  and  a  garden  moaning  and  whispering  eerily. 

Presently  a  glimmer  of  light  percolated  through  the 
cracks  of  the  door  they  were  approaching. 

A  moment  later  it  opened. 

An  elderly  woman  stood  on  the  threshold,  a  tiny  lamp 
smoking  in  her  gnarled  hand.  She  was  poorly  dressed, 
in  a  bunchy  black  skirt,  green  with  age,  a  black  and  white 
striped  cotton  bodice,  a  blue  check  aoron,  patched  and 


50  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

well  washed,  and  on  her  feet  were  worn  black  felt 
slippers. 

On  seeing  Wilson  she  gave  a  quick  exclamation. 

"Juliette,"  Desiree  said  quickly  as  she  drew  him  in, 
"this  gentleman  found  me  all  alone  in  the  thunderstorm. 
He  wouldn't  let  me  come  back  without  his  coat,  so  I 
brought  him  here  for  dinner.  Light  a  fire  in  the  spare 
room,  and  lend  him  some  of  Pierre's  clothes  until  his  own 
are  dry.  If  the  rain  doesn't  stop  he'll  have  to  stay  all 
night." 

It  was  all  said  in  French,  very  rapidly,  and  with  an  air 
of  excitement. 

Juliette  gave  Wilson  one  brief  glance.  Then,  anxiously, 
she  ran  her  hand  over  her  young  mistress.  She  pointed 
to  Desiree's  sodden  feet  and  drenched  skirt,  all  the  time 
talking  volubly  in  a  scolding,  albeit  a  caressing  manner. 

But  Desiree's  thoughts  were  all  for  Wilson. 

"Don't  bother  about  me,  Juliette,"  she  broke  in  quickly. 
"Look  after  this  gentleman." 

Then  she  turned  to  him. 

"Juliette  will  take  you  to  your  room,"  she  said,  "and 
bring  you  some  dry  clothes." 

She  turned  again  to  the  servant. 

"Take  the  English  gentleman  upstairs  at  once.  He's 
wet  through.  I'm  so  afraid  he'll  get  cold." 

Lamp  in  hand,  the  old  woman  turned,  leading  the  way 
along  a  huge,  damp,  resounding  hall.  The  feeble  light 
showed  the  place  to  be  absolutely  devoid  of  furniture  and 
the  plaster  dropping  from  its  walls. 

At  the  foot  of  wide  marble  stairs  Wilson  paused. 
Juliette  was  going  upwards,  taking  with  her  the  one 
light,  leaving  her  young  mistress  alone  in  the  black, 
drafty,  whispering  hall. 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  51 

"We  can't  leave  you  all  alone  in  the  dark,"  he  said, 
wondering  what  sort  of  a  place  he  was  in. 

Desiree  turned  her  face  towards  him,  smiling  wistfully. 

"I'm  quite  used  to  being  alone  in  the  dark,"  she 
answered. 

The  echoes  of  her  voice  followed  him  upstairs.  There 
was  a  note  of  tragedy  in  it  that  he  could  not  fathom. 

Juliette  took  him  along  a  huge  corridor  as  bare  as  the 
hall  below,  with  broken,  stained-glass  windows,  through 
which  the  wind  whistled  and  the  rain  spattered — windows 
with  wide,  wooden,  worm-eaten  seats.  Eventually  she 
ushered  him  into  a  bedroom. 

Lighting  a  candle  standing  on  the  chimney  piece,  she 
muttered  something  in  French,  and  then  left  him,  giving 
him  an  opportunity  of  studying  his  surroundings. 

In  the  middle  of  a  red-tiled  floor  a  wooden  bedstead 
stood,  worm-eaten  and  aged,  with  a  coat  of  arms  carved 
on  the  cracked  panels,  looking  as  if  any  minute  it  might 
fall  to  pieces.  An  ancient  tallboy,  too  decayed  even  to  be 
of  any  value  as  an  antique,  leaned  drunkenly  against  one 
wall,  where  the  paper  hung  loose — paper  that  looked  as  if 
a  generation  had  passed  since  it  had  been  put  on.  On 
the  opposite  side  a  bare  deal  table  stood,  with  a  little  jug 
and  basin  on  it  and  a  tiny  square  mirror  above.  The 
rain-  leaked  in  at  one  corner,  making  an  ever-increasing 
damp  patch  on  the  ceiling;  occasionally  a  drop  accumu- 
lated, and  fell  with  a  heavy  splash  on  the  floor.  A  pane  in 
one  of  the  windows  was  broken,  and  stuffed  up  with 
sacking.  Down  the  wide  chimney  the  wind  howled  on 
to  a  huge  flagged  hearth  that  had  two  great  stones  in  lieu 
of  a  fireplace. 

As  Wilson  surveyed  his  new  quarters,  he  suddenly 
remembered  he  had  five  thousand  francs  on  his  person. 


52  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

and  tales  of  people  decoyed  to  lonely  houses  and  mur- 
dered and  robbed — for  the  setting  of  the  fairy  princess 
suggested  a  thieves'  den  more  than  anything  else. 

But  he  put  the  thought  from  him.  It  was  an  insult  to 
the  pure,  sad  face  of  his  ideal.  Also,  he  recollected  that 
he  had  accosted  the  girl,  not  she  him.  Then  he  smiled 
to  himself. 

At  last  he  had  found  the  princess!  And  this,  of 
course,  was  the  ruined  castle! 

A  knock  on  the  door  roused  him. 

Juliette  entered  with  a  couple  of  towels,  a  jug  of  hot 
water,  a  coarse  white  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  blue  cotton 
trousers,  gray  woolen  socks  and  carpet  slippers,  and  a 
large  basket  of  logs  and  chips  and  pine  cones. 

Putting  the  basket  down,  she  placed  the  hot  water  and 
the  towels  on  the  deal  table,  the  clothes  on  the  bed. 

This  accomplished,  she  turned  towards  the  fireplace. 

Between  the  two  stones  she  laid  first  a  crumpled  piece 
of  paper,  then  a  trio  of  pine  cones,  almost  as  large  as 
cocoanuts,  then  the  chips,  and,  finally,  a  couplet)f  logs.  A 
match  was  put  to  the  pile.  In  a  moment  it  was  ablaze, 
giving  light  and  warmth  to  the  bleak  chamber. 

"Vo\la!"  she  exclaimed  with  the  air  of  one  who  per- 
forms miracles. 

Getting  to  her  feet,  she  turned  towards  Wilson  and 
started  talking  and  gesticulating.  Then,  suddenly  realizing 
he  could  understand  very  little  of  what  she  said,  with  a 
shrug  she  left  him  in  peace  to  change  his  dripping  gar- 
ments. 


CHAPTER  VI 
JULIETTE 

Juliette  made  her  way  down  another  corridor  towards 
a  room  at  the  far  end.  Without  any  preliminaries  she 
entered.  A  huge  fire  was  blazing  on  the  wide  hearth. 
Before  it,  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  Desiree  was 
sitting,  her  long  hair  loose  and  drying  in  the  warmth. 

At  her  entry  the  girl  looked  round. 

"Have  you  made  him  quite  comfortable,  that  English 
gentleman  ?"  she  asked. 

"As  comfortable  as  one  can  be  here,  Comtesse." 

"He  has  not  guessed,"  Desiree  said.     "Don't  tell  him." 

"How  can  I  tell  him,  ma  petite?  He  can't  understand 
a  word  I  say." 

"What  is  he  like?  His  voice  is  so  kind.  He  feels  so 
nice.  He  touches  one  so  carefully." 

"He  is  only  three  or  four  inches  taller  than  you,  my 
jewel,  but  very  broad  and  strong.  Yes,  strong  as  a  bull. 
He  is  not  handsome  like  Monsieur  Eugene,  but  his  face  is 
good  and  firm — the  face  of  a  man  one  can  trust." 

Then  she  changed  the  conversation. 

"Now  what  shall  we  give  this  English  gentleman  for 
dinner?  We  can't  serve  only  the  s^up  and  puree  of 
potatoes  that  was  for  you,"  she  finished. 

"You  must  make  an  omelette,"  Desiree  said. 

"That  means  four  eggs  that  I  can  sell  at  sixty  centimes 
apiece,"  was  the  grumbling  reply. 

53 


54  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"•But  hospitality  comes  first.    This  gentleman  has  been 
very  kind  to  me.    And  you  must  open  one  of  those  tins 
of  sardines  you  bought  in  case  my  uncle  and  cousin 
came  for  lunch." 
'    "Yes.    Ten  francs  for  two  tins  of  sardines — for  them!" 

There  was  a  world  of  contempt  in  the  old  woman's 
voice. 

"Juliette,  you  mustn't  speak  of  my  uncle  and  cousin  in 
that  manner,"  Desiree  said  chidingly. 

"I  speak  of  people  as  I  find  them,"  the  old  woman  re- 
torted. "But  this  dinner,  this  fete  for  the  English 
milord.  Yes,  the  soup,  the  sardines,  an  omelette,  the 
puree  of  potatoes.  So  far,  so  good." 

"Then  dried  figs  and  walnuts.  And  oranges,  if  Pierre 
will  venture  out  in  the  rain  and  gather  them.  And  coffee. 
Yes,  and  one  of  those  bottles  of  wine  that  came  with  my 
grandfather  from  Paris." 

To  the  last  item  Juliette  agreed  heartily. 

"Better  this  English  gentleman  should  drink  the  wine 
than — them,  for  at  least  he  gave  his  coat  to  shelter  you." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  weight  of  dislike  for 
"them"  in  the  old  servant's  voice. 

This  time  Desiree  did  not  chide  her,  being  too  intent 
on  the  unexpected  guest's  dinner. 

"And  what  shall  I  wear  ?"  she  asked.  "The  white  silk 
I  wear  when  my  uncle  takes  me  to  parties?  No,  that 
would  be  much  too  grand.  The  blue  muslin  you  have  just 
made  me.  You  say  it  matches  my  eyes,"  she  finished  in 
a  dreary  tone. 

The  remark  caused  the  old  woman  to  place  her  arms 
about  the  girl,  her  withered  lips  crooning  loving  words. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DINNER 

A  knock  on  his  door  roused  Wilson. 

"Diner  est  servi,  monsieur"  an  old  voice  said. 

He  glanced  at  as  much  as  he  could  see  of  himself  in 
the  blurred  mirror.  The  clothes  brought  to  replace  his 
own  were  only  a  peasant's.  A  coarse  white  cotton  shirt, 
rough-dry,  a  pair  of  stiff  blue  cotton  trousers  and  felt 
slippers,  were  not  exactly  the  garments  in  which  he 
wanted  to  face  Desiree  de  Mailly. 

He  wished  to  cut  as  good  a  figure  as  possible  before 
her,  and  he  felt  that  his  present  attire  made  him  look  too 
much  like  the  better-class  artisan  his  father  had  been. 
However,  he  also  knew  he  could  not  appear  in  soaking 
wet  tweeds. 

Outside  the  door  he  found  an  old  man  waiting,  who 
was  attired  similarly  to  himself,  some  of  whose  clothes 
Wilson  suspected  that  he  himself  was  wearing. 

In  Pierre's  wake  he  went  downstairs.  He  was  taken 
through  the  big,  dark  hall  and  shown  into  a  room  that 
was  badly  lighted — a  large  place  with  bare  whitewashed 
walls,  a  beamed  ceiling,  and  a  tiled  floor.  At  one  end 
was  an  old  wooden  settee,  where  a  guitar  lay ;  at  the  other 
was  a  cheap  deal  sideboard.  In  the  middle  of  an  expanse 
of  bare  floor  was  an  oak  table  black  with  age,  and  round 
and  about  were  half  a  dozen  kitchen  chairs.  The  long, 
low  windows  were  curtainless,  with  no  sign  of  a  cushion 

55 


56  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

on  their  broad  stone  seats.  There  was  not  even  a  rug 
on  the  broken  tiled  floor.  On  the  table  and  the  high 
chimney-piece  were  little  glass  jam-jars  full  of  carnations. 

At  least  there  was  a  good  roaring  fire  of  logs,  the  only 
thing  in  the  way  of  comfort  the  place  seemed  to  possess. 

Well  in  the  shadows  Desiree  stood,  looking  more  desir- 
able than  ever  in  a  short-sleeved,  frilly  frock  of  cloudy 
blue. 

At  Wilson's  entrance  she  did  not  come  forward.  As 
shy  as  a  little  child,  she  did  not  move,  as  if  waiting  for 
him  to  come  to  her  side,  which  he  did  at  once. 

To  his  surprise  there  was  no  one  in  the  room  but  the 
girl. 

"Have  the  rest  of  the  family  had  their  dinner?"  he 
asked,  delighted  at  the  thought  of  a  tete-a-tete  meal. 

"I  am  the  family.  No  one  lives  here  but  me  and  Juliette 
and  Pierre." 

"I  must  look  a  sight  to  appear  at  anyone's  dinner 
table,"  Wilson  began  apologetically. 

"You — look  quite  all  right,"  she  answered,  her  face 
flushing  suddenly. 

She  turned  towards  the  table. 

"I  can't  offer  you  very  much,  here  in  the  country,"  she 
went  on. 

"You've  no  idea  what  a  treat  all  this  is  to  me,"  he 
assured  her. 

Only  one  corner  of  the  table  was  set,  with  a  coarse, 
checked  cloth  of  green  and  blue  and  white,  with  red  lions 
rampant  on  the  white.  The  two  places  were  laid  with  a 
trio  of  common  white  plates,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other, 
and  a  soup  plate  on  the  top  of  each  pile.  There  were  a 
leaden-looking  spoon  and  fork,  a  black  handled  knife, 
with  a  glass  rest  for  the  two  last  to  repose  on  between 


DINNER  57 

the  courses.  By  the  side  of  the  plates  was  set  a  thick, 
stemmed  goblet,  and  in  each  was  a  fringed  napkin  to 
match  the  table-cloth. 

Wilson  hardly  noticed  these  details.  He  thought  only 
of  the  girl  living  in  a  depth  of  poverty  altogether  out  of 
keeping  with  her  well-bred  air. 

In  spite  of  her  poverty,  it  was  evident  both  her  old 
servitors  adored  her.  Fussy  and  trembling,  the  old  man 
waited  on  them,  hovering  round  the  girl  as  if  he  lived  for- 
nothing  but  to  serve  her. 

"Here  is  the  soup,  ma  petite,"  he  said.  "Let  me  help 
you." 

Everything  he  put  on  her  plate.  He  would  not  even  let 
her  reach  across  for  the  salt.  And  she  went  about  her 
meal  in  a  slow,  dainty,  hesitant  manner  that  charmed  her 
visitor  completely. 

"Considering  his  age,  your  old  servant  manages  very 
well,"  Wilson  remarked  during  the  course  of  the  repast, 
since  it  very  soon  became  evident  that  he  must  start  all 
conversations. 

"Pierre  was  my  grandfather's  butler.  He  has  served 
my  family  for  over  sixty  years.  He's  seventy-nine  now." 

Then  she  said  something  in  French  to  the  old  man  that 
brought  him  hovering  round  her  again,  on  his  lips  the 
"ma  petite"  that  Wilson  loved.  "My  little  one"  seemed 
the  very  name  for  her. 

With  that  sudden  realization  of  facts  that  had  helped 
Wilson  materially  in  his  career  he  knew  that,  but  for  his 
presence,  Desiree  de  Mailly  would  have  dined  off  watery 
soup  and  mashed  potatoes.  There  would  have  been  no 
excellent  sardines,  no  perfect  omelette,  no  dessert,  no 
wine  that  must  have  come  from  a  connoisseur's  cellar, 
perhaps  no  coffee. 


58 

When  the  meal  was  over  Pierre  cleared  the  table,  leav- 
ing them  alone  to  linger  over  the  coffee. 

Wilson  drew  out  his  cigarette  case. 

"Do  you  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"Sometimes  Eugene  makes  me,  but  I  don't  like  it.  It 
always  makes  me  cough  and  my  tongue  sore." 

"Perhaps  he  gives  you  French  cigarettes.  You'll  find 
these  English  ones  much  milder.  Try  one." 

He  held  the  case  towards  her. 

However,  she  made  no  attempt  to  take  one. 

"Won't  you  try  mine?"  he  asked  persuasively. 

"Will — will  you  give  me  one,"  she  faltered,  stretching 
a  hand  towards  him. 

He  was  only  too  pleased  to  put  one  into  her  hand,  for 
the  sake  of  letting  his  own  touch  hers  for  a  moment. 

But  when  she  had  the  cigarette  she  placed  the  wrong 
end  between  her  lips. 

However,  he  was  too  infatuated  to  attach  any  meaning 
to  what  she  had  done.  He  only  saw  a  child  nervous  and 
shy  in  his  company.  During  dinner,  however,  it  had 
struck  him  that  she  was  very  shortsighted,  but  he  knew 
that  Frenchwomen  would  endure  anything  rather  than 
wear  glasses. 

"The  gold  tip  goes  into  your  mouth,"  he  said  with 
amusement. 

Once  the  cigarette  was  alight,  it  was  obvious  she  was 
the  veriest  novice,  for  she  chewed  the  end  and  swallowed 
the  smoke. 

"Not  like  that,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  efforts.  "Watch 
me,  then  you'll  see  how  it's  done." 

For  some  reason  his  words  brought  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  much  good  at  smoking,"  she  said, 
her  voice  trembling  as  she  put  the  cigarette  down. 


DINNER  59 

She  was  such  a  child  that  Wilson  thought  she  suspected 
him  of  scolding  her  because  of  her  unsuccessful  efforts. 

He  glanced  towards  the  settee  where  the  guitar  was, 
and  changed  the  topic. 

"Do  you  play  the  guitar  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  as  if  relieved  at  the  turn  the  conver- 
sation had  taken. 

"Do  play  something,  if  you're  not  tired  of  entertaining 
me." 

She  got  up  at  once  and  fetched  the  instrument. 

Seating  herself  again,  she  played  several  little  tunes, 
to  which  he  listened  enthralled  as  he  studied  her  delicate 
profile,  her  small  hands,  her  crown  of  golden  hair — his 
fairy  princess  complete,  even  to  the  ruined  castle.  At 
that  moment  he  gave  no  thought  to  the  dragons  and  the 
ogre. 

Presently  she  broke  into  a  little  laughing,  haunting 
refrain  that  was  the  craze  of  the  hour. 

"That's  the  new  dance,"  he  remarked  when  she  had 
finished. 

"Yes.  I  heard  it  about  six  weeks  ago  at  Cannes,  at  a 
party  my  uncle  took  me  to." 

"Do  you  know  the  dance  too?" 

"Yes,  Eugene  taught  me.  He  dances  splendidly." 

Wilson  felt  jealous  of  this  Eugene  who  had  a  way  of 
coming  into  her  talk. 

"Who's  Eugene  ?"  he  asked. 

"My  cousin." 

Wilson  got  to  his  feet. 

"See  if  I'm  as  good  a  partner  as  Eugene,"  he  said, 
going  to  her  side. 

"I  can't  dance  and  play  as  well,"  she  answered 


60  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"I'll  whistle,"  he  said.  "It's  my  one  accomplishment 
in  the  musical  line." 

He  did  not  wait  for  "Yea"  or  "Nay."  Taking  the 
guitar,  he  placed  it  on  the  table.  Then  he  drew  the  girl 
to  her  feet  and  started  the  measure. 

If  he  whistled  well,  he  danced  even  better,  and  when 
he  took  Desiree  into  his  arms  he  tasted  bliss  for  the  first 
time.  She  was  an  excellent  partner,  no  more  weight 
than  holding  a  feather.  And  he  had  hard  work  to  keep 
himself  from  kissing  the  little  face  so  close  to  his  own. 

"Now  we'll  have  a  tango,"  he  said,  the  moment  the 
quaint  little  dance  was  finished,  anxious  to  keep  her  in 
his  arms. 

To  his  whistling  they  danced  quite  half-a-dozen 
measures,  and  in  the  dancing  the  girl's  face  lost  its  tragic 
look  and  took  on  one  of  fleeting,  furtive  happiness. 

However,  she  was  the  first  to  stop. 

"How  foolish  of  us  to  behave  in  this  childish  manner," 
she  said. 

"But  you're  only  a  child." 

"I'm  twenty-one  to-day." 

Wilson  was  surprised  to  hear  this. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  at  dinner  it  was  your  birth- 
day, and  I'd  have  drunk  to  your  health  and  happiness," 
he  said,  mentioning  the  two  things  his  youthful  hostess 
obviously  lacked.  "Considering  you  are  only  just  grown- 
up to-day  you  can  be  forgiven  any  backslidings,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"How  long  have  you  been  grown-up  ?"  she  asked  shyly. 

"Getting  on  to  thirteen  years  legally.  But  I  put  away 
childish  things  when  I  took  my  first  job  when  I  was 
twelve  years  old." 


DINNER  61 

"Twelve  years  old !"  she  exclaimed.  "Did  you  have  to 
work  when  you  were  only  twelve?" 

Wilson  had  no  intention  of  deceiving  his  ideal  by  pre- 
tending to  be  other  than  he  was. 

"I  come  of  quite  poor  people,  Miss  de  Mailly,"  he  said. 
"My  father  died  when  I  was  three.  Afterwards  my 
mother  supported  herself  and  me  by  dressmaking  and 
letting  lodgings.  When  I  was  twelve  I  got  a  job  in  an 
iron  foundry.  It  was  not  exactly  pleasant  work,  but  it 
was  well  paid,  and  that  was  all  I  cared  about.  In  those 
days  I  earned  ten  shillings  a  week.  Now  I  earn  ;£  10,000 
a  year." 

He  made  the  last  statement  with  a  certain  grim  satis- 
faction. 

"You  talk  as  if  you  loved  money,"  she  said. 

"It's  not  that  exactly.  But  I  appreciate  it,  as  peeple 
do  who  have  felt  its  need.  It  puts  a  lot  of  things  within 
your  reach  that  otherwise  you  couldn't  have." 

As  he  talked  he  looked  at  Desiree. 

It  had  put  her  within  his  reach — a  girl  to  whom  lie 
could  not  have  aspired  had  he  been  the  thirty  shillings  a 
week  workman  his  father  was. 

"Ten  thousand  pounds  a  year !  What  a  lot  of  money. 
I've  only  three  thousand  francs  a  year,  this  house,  and 
'The  Necklace  of  Tears,' "  Desiree  remarked  presently, 
as  if  she  had  been  cogitating  on  the  matter. 

"'The  Necklace  of  Tears!'    What's  that?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  show  you,"  she  said,  turning  towards  the  door. 

Wilson  watched  her  go. 

He  was  reckoning  out  that,  at  the  low  rate  of  exchange, 
three  thousand  francs  was  not  much  more  than  £60  a 
year. 

Sixty  pounds  a  year!     That  was  all  she  had.  Sixty 


62  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

pounds  and  this  ruin  of  a  house — with  butter  at  nineteen 
francs  a  pound  and  meat  at  seventeen ! 

The  fact  made  him  almost  sick  with  pity. 

No  wonder  she  looked  as  if  she  were  on  the  verge  of 
starvation,  no  wonder  her  home  was  a  ruin. 

To  get  away  from  his  thoughts,  he  turned  towards  the 
fireplace,  grateful,  indeed,  that  wood  was  cheap,  for  coal 
was  about  four  hundred  francs  a  ton. 

It  seemed  to  him  he  had  found  the  first  of  the  dragons 
— poverty — one  he  could  easily  slay  if  she  would  let  him. 

A  couple  of  telegrams  standing  on  the  high  chimney- 
piece  attracted  his  attention. 

They  were  addressed  to  "Mile,  la  Comtesse  de  Mailly." 

His  gaze  was  fixed  on  them. 

Was  she  the  Countess  de  Mailly?  That  lovely,  half- 
starved,  helpless  child,  who  was  trying  to  keep  body  and 
soul  together  and  two  worn-out  old  servants  on  £60  a 
year. 

Desiree's  entrance  roused  him. 

"Are  you  the  Countess  de  Mailly?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply,  coming  to  his  side. 

He  was  worked  up  to  such  a  pitch  over  the  £60  that 
he  almost  expected  to  see  her  die  of  starvation  before  his 
eyes.  However,  instead  of  falling  down  dead  at  his 
feet  she  held  an  old  leather  case  towards  him. 

"This  is  'The  Necklace  of  Tears/  "  she  said. 

Wilson  was  thinking  more  about  her  than  the  necklace 
— how  he  could  best  rectify  the  straits  in  which  he  had 
found  her. 

Absently  he  took  the  case  and  opened  it. 

On  white  velvet,  yellowed  with  age,  lay  a  diamond 
necklace,  a  graded  row,  each  stone  perfect,  clear  and 
crystal  as  a  tear. 


DINNER  63 

Wilson  knew  enough  of  gems  to  be  well  aware  that  a 
fortune  lay  within  his  grip. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  this  ?"  he  asked,  astounded. 

"It's  mine." 

"But  you  mustn't  keep  anything  so  valuable  in  this 
lonely  place." 

"It  only  came  this  morning.  My  solicitor  brought  it," 
she  explained.  "My  uncle  was  to  have  been  here  to  take 
charge  of  it  for  me,  but  there  was  the  railway  strike,  and 
he  couldn't  get  away  from  Paris.  I  had  a  telegram  to  say 
he's  coming  by  motor. 

Wilson  handed  the  case  back  to  its  owner,  still  hardly 
able  to  credit  what  he  had  seen ;  it  was  so  out  of  keeping 
with  her  surroundings.  A  necklace  fit  for  an  empress! 
He  doubted  if  she  had  any  idea  of  its  real  value. 

But  it  put  quite  another  light  on  their  relations. 

She  was  no  longer  a  beggar  maid,  to  whom  he  was 
only  too  ready  to  play  the  part  of  King  Cophetua.  That 
necklace  spelt  a  fortune.  Her  people  would  see  that  she 
married  some  one  of  her  own  status,  not  a  self-made 
business  man. 

The  neat  little  dream  that  Wilson  had  woven  since 
meeting  his  princess  started  to  fade. 

Somewhere  in  the  drafty  ruin  a  clock  struck  eleven, 
reminding  him  that  he  ought  to  have  gone  some  hours 
ago. 

"I  must  be  going,"  he  said.  "I'd  no  idea  it  was  so 
late." 

"You  can't  go  back  to  Nice  to-night,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "It's  still  raining  heavily.  You  must  stay  here. 
I've  told  Juliette  to  make  up  the  bed." 

"But  I'm  giving  you  an  awful  lot  of  trouble." 

"It's  very  nice  having  some  one  here,"  she  said  shyly. 


64  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Wilson  laughed. 

She  was  such  a  child,  in  spite  of  her  twenty-one  years. 

"And  it's  very  nice  being  here,"  he  said  with  gentle 
mimicry.  "But  you  mustn't  let  me  keep  you  up.  It's 
quite  time  you  were  in  bed  and  asleep." 

"I  can  always  go  to  sleep,  but  I  can't  always  have  some 
one  to  talk  to." 

He  drew  a  chair  up  for  her. 

"Then  I'll  let  you  talk  another  ten  minutes,"  he  re- 
marked. 

But  during  the  ten  minutes  he  did  most  of  the  talking. 

Juliette's  entry  roused  them. 

"The  monsieur's  room  is  ready,"  she  said. 

Wilson  rose,  guessing  her  mission. 

He  took  Desiree's  hand  into  his,  holding  it  carefully 
in  his  strong  grip. 

"Good-night,"  he  said,  "and  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
leave  that  thing  lying  about." 

With  animosity  he  glanced  at  "The  Necklace  of  Tears," 
which  lay  open  in  its  case  on  the  table,  and  which  had 
shattered  his  plans. 

The  thing  winked  at  him  evilly,  as  if  enjoying  his  dis- 
comfiture. 

Then  he  went  to  bed,  to  be  haunted  by  dreams  of  a 
girl — his  fairy  princess — seated  on  a  throne  high  above 
him,  too  high  for  him  to  reach — a  girl  with  a  small,  wist- 
ful face  and  diamonds  streaming  like  tears  from  her 
tragic  eyes. 


THE  NECKLACE  OF  TEARS 

The  next  morning  the  sun  trickling  through  the  wooden 
shutters  roused  Wilson.  He  got  out  of  bed  and  pushed 
them  wide  open,  to  see  what  the  place  looked  like  by 
daylight. 

The  whole  world  was  bathed  in  sunshine,  making  the 
rain  of  the  previous  evening  seem  impossible.  In  the 
distance,  a  misty  blue  on  the  skyline,  the  sea  stretched.  In 
between  were  rounded  hills  and  deep  valleys,  where  every 
sort  of  fruitful  tree  grew.  On  one  side  was  a  ridge  of 
gray  mountains,  over  which  snow-clad  heights  peeped. 

Then  he  looked  at  his  immediate  surroundings. 

Below  a  garden  lay — a  large  walled  expanse  set  round 
with  orange-trees.  In  it  palm,  fig,  lemon,  loquat,  and 
walnut-trees  flourished,  with  here  and  there  a  somber 
cypress,  a  clump  of  bamboo,  a  patch  of  cactus,  or  a 
golden  rain  of  mimosa.  There  were  old  stone  seats, 
crumbling  statues,  and  broken  arches  where  roses,  wis- 
taria, and  honeysuckle  ran  riot.  In  the  wilderness  a 
few  fowls  scratched  and  a  couple  of  tethered  goats 
browsed. 

Just  below  his  window  was  a  wide  marble  terrace.  Up 
its  white  steps  he  must  have  stumbled  the  previous 
evening.  In  one  corner,  under  the  shade  of  a  spreading 
tree,  stood  a  battered  iron  table  and  a  trio  of  chairs. 

In  one  of  the  chairs  Desiree  sat,  in  the  white  dress  she 

65 


66  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

had  worn  the  previous  afternoon,  her  hands  lying  list- 
lessly on  her  knee,  her  ey«s  downcast. 

As  quickly  as  possible  Wilson  got  into  his  clothes.  The 
night  before  he  had  found  them  dried  and  neatly  folded 
on  a  chair  in  his  bedroom. 

He  was  not  long  in  making  his  way  downstairs. 

His  step  on  the  terrace  made  Desiree  turn  her  head 
in  his  direction, 

"Did  you  sleep  well  ?"  she  asked  politely,  after  he  had 
greeted  her. 

Wilson  had  not  slept  specially  well.  There  would  be 
no  more  peaceful  nights  for  him  until  his  was  the  right 
to  sleep  with  her  within  his  arms.  He  was  a  strong  man 
to  whom  love  and  passion  had  come  for  the  first  time. 
The  new  forces  raging  within  him  left  him  a  trifle  stunned 
and  stupefied,  not  quite  his  usual  observant  self,  more 
especially  when  he  thought  of  that  necklace  coming  be- 
tween him  and  the  girl  he  wanted. 

"Yes,  Countess,"  was  all  he  could  say  at  the  moment. 

Desiree  got  to  her  feet. 

"Breakfast  won't  be  ready  for  another  quarter  of  an 
hour,"  she  said.  "Would  you  like  to  see  my  carnations  ? 
Pierre  grows  them  because  I  love  the  scent  of  them." 

"I  would,"  he  said,  delighted  to  do  anything  or  go 
anywhere  she  suggested. 

She  led  the  way  down  the  marble  steps.  On  reaching 
the  bottom  she  turned  her  misty  eyes  towards  the  fragrant 
wilderness. 

"I  love  the  scent  of  the  early  morning,  don't  you? 
That's  why  I  always  have  breakfast  outside  on  the 
terrace,  not  in  my  room,  as  most  French  people  do." 

Wilson  loved  anything  so  long  as  she  was  there,  and 
he  agreed  heartily. 


THE  NECKLACE  OF  TEARS  67 

She  made  her  way  towards  a  wooden  gate  at  the  far 
end  of  the  garden.  Opened,  it  showed  grass-grown  ter- 
races on  a  sloping  hillside,  where  olives  and  figs  grew, 
and  here  and  there  a  cherry,  pear,  peach,  or  almond-tree 
lifted  white  or  pink  blossoms  against  an  azure  sky.  Near 
at  hand  were  one  or  two  cultivated  patches,  where  lettuces, 
potatoes,  peas,  spinach,  and  broad  beans  grew.  One 
little  terrace  was  carefully  guarded,  roofed  with  rush  mats 
set  on  wooden  frames. 

Towards  that  spot  Desiree  went.  On  reaching  it  she 
started  to  roll  back  one  of  the  mats. 

"Let  me  do  that,"  Wilson  said  quickly,  stooping  over 
her. 

A  rush  of  incense  greeted  them  from  the  flowers  be- 
neath, a  wealth  of  prize  carnations. 

"Pierre  would  like  to  grow  more  flowers  for  me,  but 
I  won't  let  him,"  she  said.  "He  has  only  strength  enough 
to  grow  the  things  we  must  eat.  All  this  land  is  mine," 
she  went  on,  waving  her  hand  vaguely  round.  "Juliette 
sells  the  fruit  when  she  can.  It's  a  great  help  now  that 
things  are  so  dear.  Will  you  have  one  of  my  carnations  ?" 
she  finished,  stooping  over  the  scented  enclosure. 

She  held  the  flower  towards  him,  smiling  shyly  as  a 
lonely  child  might  at  a  new-found  friend.  He  took  it 
eagerly,  putting  it  in  his  buttonhole. 

"That's  the  coat  I  wore,"  she  said.  "It  smells  quite 
different  from  other  men's  coats.  And  it  feels  quite 
different  too,"  she  continued,  rubbing  a  slim  finger  up 
and  down  its  rough  surface. 

"It  is  quite  different,"  he  said,  "you  don't  get  much  of 
this  sort  of  cloth  in  these  parts.  I  wear  it  whenever  I 
can.  I  like  it  because  it  smells  of  the  open  air,  the  sea, 
and  the  country,  things  that  haven't  come  much  into  my 


68  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

life.  Now  I've  made  my  pile  I'm  not  so  sure  I  shan't 
retire  and  buy  an  estate  somewhere,  and  go  in  for  farm- 
ing. It's  what's  wanted  more  than  anything  nowadays. 
But  it's  very  difficult  to  get  out  of  harness  when  you've 
been  in  it  more  than  twenty  years." 

"It  doesn't  seem  right  that  you  should  have  had  to  work 
so  hard,"  she  replied  with  sympathy. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"Because  you  seem  so  nice." 

It  was  a  child's  reply,  and  Wilson  laughed  tenderly. 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  never  change  your  opinion,"  he 
said. 

Then  his  gaze  went  to  the  finger  that  was  still  rubbing 
his  sleeve  with  the  lightness  of  a  butterfly's  wing. 

On  that  hillside,  everything  that  could  chirp  or  sing 
or  whistle  or  buzz  was  chirping  and  singing  and  whistling 
and  buzzing,  and  Wilson  felt  like  joining  in  the  joyous 
chorus. 

Without  a  doubt  the  Countess  de  Mailly  had  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  him.  And  he  began  to  patch  up  his  dream. 

He  knew  he  was  in  a  country  where  girls  of  the  upper 
class  were  not  allowed  to  pick  and  choose  their  husbands, 
but  are  compelled  to  marry  those  appointed  by  their 
parents  and  guardians.  He  would  see  to  it  that  the  little 
countess  married  the  man  she  liked,  no  matter  what  mat- 
rimonial plans  her  uncle  might  have  in  view,  if  by  phe- 
nomenal luck  that  man  happened  to  be  himself. 

Although  Desiree  had  never  actually  said  so,  all  her 
talk  implied  that  her  uncle  was  her  guardian — a  very 
indifferent  and  selfish  one,  considering  the  straits  she 
lived  in. 

If  she  stooped  to  love  him,  Wilson,  he  would  marry 


THE  NECKLACE  OF  TEARS  69 

her,  if  he  had  to  wade  up  to  his  neck  in  the  gore  of  a 
hundred  uncles. 

From  the  house  a  faint  sound  was  wafted,  and  into  his 
blood-thirsty  thoughts  Desiree's  soft  voice  came. 

"I  hear  Juliette  with  the  breakfast,"  she  said. 

She  started  towards  the  wooden  gate  leading  into  the 
tangled  garden,  making  her  way  along  weed-grown  paths, 
through  a  scented  wilderness  where  wistaria  ran  riot  up 
gloomy  cypresses,  where  roses  and  vines  arched  old 
arbors,  and  crept  about  silent  fountains — a  pale  wraith 
of  a  girl,  moving  slowly,  in  a  timid,  hesitant  manner, 
having  now  in  complete  thrall  the  man  who  walked  beside 
her. 

On  the  terrace  the  table  was  laid,  a  compromise  between 
French  and  English  style. 

There  were  two  thick  cups  the  size  of  pudding  bowls, 
a  small  jug  of  black  coffee,  a  large  one  of  hot  goats' 
milk,  a  tiny  bowl  of  coarse  sugar,  a  portion  of  a  long 
roll,  a  minute  pat  of  butter,  and,  opposite  the  chair  Juliette 
drew  up  for  the  guest,  a  couple  of  boiled  eggs. 

The  sight  of  them  took  his  thoughts  to  the  £60  a  year, 
and  that,  in  all  probability,  his  youthful  hostess  was  sac- 
rificing her  own  lunch  or  dinner,  or  both,  to  feed  him. 

"Why  did  you  trouble  to  have  eggs  boiled  for  me  ?"  he 
asked,  on  seating  himself. 

"I  thought  all  English  people  had  eggs  for  breakfast.'* 

"Well,  at  least  one  French  person  is  going  to  have  an 
egg  this  morning,"  he  said,  putting  one  on  her  plate. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  broke  in  quickly,  "they're  for  you." 

"I  shall  turn  sulky,"  he  threatened.  "I  shan't  eat  mine 
unless  you  eat  yours." 

There  was  a  taking  way  about  Wilson  when  he  cared 


jo  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

to  exercise  it.  And  with  that  small,  thin  face  turned 
towards  him  he  used  all  his  powers. 

"There  is  so  little  I  can  offer  you,"  she  said.  "It  has 
not  been  very  nice  for  you  here.  My  house  is  very  poor, 
and  all  English  people  are  rich,"  she  finished  apologeti- 
cally. 

To  Wilson  his  brief  stay  in  the  dilapidated  old  chateau 
had  been  heaven,  but  his  acquaintance  with  her  was  too 
short  for  him  to  say  so.  Instead,  he  put  the  question  that 
had  been  hovering  on  his  lips  ever  since  he  had  seen  "The 
Necklace  of  Tears." 

"The  richest  people  in  England  haven't  a  lovely  place 
like  yours.  But  why  don't  you  sell  your  necklace, 
Countess  ?  Then  you'd  be  as  rich  as  any  of  us." 

"My  uncle  wouldn't  let  me." 

"But  surely  you  can  please  yourself." 

"He's  my  guardian,"  she  said,  as  if  that  settled  the 
matter.  "Besides " 

She  broke  off. 

"Besides — what?"  he  asked. 

There  was  no  reply. 

He  looked  at  the  girl.  All  those  generations  had  left 
her  nothing  but  that  necklace,  pride,  and  a  fragile,  wistful 
beauty. 

"Why  should  you  deny  yourself  in  any  way  for  the 
sake  of  keeping  an  heirloom?"  he  questioned,  thinking 
he  had  the  reason  of  her  reluctance  to  part  with  the 
jewel.  "That  sort  of  thing  is  out  of  date." 

"I  don't  think  I  do,"  she  said,  a  slight  tremor  in  her 
gentle  voice.  "But  if — if  I  sell  it,  the  curse  might  fall  on 
someone  else.  So  I  shall  keep  it  and  have  it  buried  with 
me.  Then  it  can  do  no  further  harm." 


THE  NECKLACE  OF  TEARS  71 

"So  it's  cursed,  is  it?  I'm  not  surprised  to  hear  that, 
considering  the  evil  way  it  winked  at  me." 

At  his  words  her  hands  came  together  in  a  tight  clasp. 

"Did  it  look  at  you  like  that?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"It  can't  do  me  any  harm,"  he  said  lightly.  "What  is 
the  curse  supposed  to  be?  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"An  ancestor  of  mine  got  it  in  one  of  the  Crusades. 
He  took  it  from  the  tomb  of  some  Mohammedan  saint. 
The  priests  tried  to  stop  him.  They  said  it  was  cursed. 
'The  Necklace  of  Tears'  they  called  it,  for  whoever 
possessed  it,  misfortune  would  come  on  whatever  the 
owner  loved  best." 

"And  did  it?"  Wilson  asked. 

"He  loved  his  wife  best  of  all,  and  when  he  got  back 
home  she  was  dead." 

"And  did  it  stop  there?" 

"No.  The  next  de  Mailly  was  a  clever  man  who  loved 
learning  more  than  anything  else,  and  he  went  mad." 

"And  then?" 

"The  next  owner  loved  his  eldest  son  beyond  all  else, 
and  he  saw  the  boy  drown.  It  went  on  like  that,  bringing 
sorrow  and  tears  to  whichever  of  us  possessed  it,  right 
up  to  my  grandfather's  day.  He  was  a  rich  man  who 
loved  money  best,  and  he  lost  everything  except  this 
house  and  the  necklace." 

"And  how  has  the  curse  affected  you?"  Wilson  asked, 
all  interest. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  on  Desiree's  part. 
Her  lips  opened,  as  if  to  make  some  confession,  then 
closed  again  with  the  words  unspoken,  as  they  had  done 
once  before.  An  anxious  expression  crossed  her  face, 


72  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

and  her  hand  started  to  toy  nervously  with  the  fringed 
tablecloth. 

"My  father  died  before  I  was  born,  my  mother  when 
I  was  a  week  old,"  she  said  eventually  in  a  low  voice,  her 
face  averted. 

As  they  talked,  Juliette  fussed  round  them,  pouring 
out  the  coffee,  cutting  the  loaf,  taking  the  top  off  Desiree's 
egg,  buttering  her  bread,  as  if  the  girl  were  four  years 
old  instead  of  twenty-one. 

Wilson  envied  the  old  woman.  All  these  things  he 
would  have  liked  to  do.  There  was  an  air  about  the 
child  as  if,  were  she  left  to  herself,  she  would  be  as 
helpless  as  a  baby;  a  listless,  weary  air,  as  though  the 
many  generations  before  her  had  left  her  utterly  tired 
out,  an  air  one  sometimes  gets  in  the  last  members  of  a 
very  old  and  exclusive  family  that  has  never  married  out 
of  its  class. 

Over  the  simple  repast  Wilson  lingered  as  long  as  he 
dared.  Once  it  was  finished  he  had  no  excuse  for  staying. 

Eventually  he  rose. 

"I  must  go  now,"  he  said  reluctantly.  "But  may  I 
come  to-morrow  and  see  if  you're  no  worse  for  last 
night's  outing?" 

"Please  do,  if  you  would  care  to,"  she  answered  shyly. 

"If  you  talk  like  that  you'll  find  me  rapidly  developing 
into  a  nuisance,"  he  answered.  "I  shall  come  so  often  and 
so  frequently  that  you'll  end  up  by  ordering  me  off  the 
premises." 

Then  he  took  her  hand,  holding  it  carefully,  wishing 
he  dared  to  kiss  it  in  the  gallant  manner  of  her  country- 
men; in  its  smallness  and  weakness  it  seemed  made  for 
nothing  else. 

"Well,  then,  it's  au  rcvoir"  he  said  gayly. 


THE  NECKLACE  OF  TEARS  73 

As  Wilson  made  his  way  back  along  the  narrow  white 
road  to  Nice,  the  carnation  Desiree  had  given  him  in  his 
buttonhole,  he  whistled  cheerfully. 

He  loved  the  Countess  de  Mailly,  and  it  would  not 
take  much  to  make  her  love  him.  But  her  uncle  would 
be  sure  to  interfere.  He  would  not  let  a  dowry  like  that 
necklace  go  to  a  stray  Englishman  of  no  social  standing. 

Wilson  snapped  his  fingers. 

He  cared  just  about  that  much  for  her  uncle  and  his 
interference. 


CHAPTER  IX 
AN  EXPLANATION 

On  arriving  at  his  hotel  Wilson  went  first  to  the  bureau 
to  get  the  key  of  his  room.  As  he  was  making  his  way 
across  the  large  hall  he  met  the  manager.  The  latter 
spoke  English  well,  and  a  slight  friendship  had  grown  up 
between  them. 

"Did  you  wonder  what  had  happened  to  me  last  night?" 
Wilson  asked. 

"I  thought  perhaps  the  rain  had  detained  you  some- 
where," the  manager  replied  diplomatically. 

"I  was  miles  away  in  the  country  when  it  came  on," 
Wilson  explained.  "But  a  good  Samaritan  found  me, 
and  gave  me  dinner  and  bed  and  breakfast — for  love." 

"You  look  as  if  you'd  enjoyed  the  experience,"  the 
manager  remarked. 

"I  did,  immensely." 

In  spite  of  his  own  elation  Wilson  could  not  help  notic- 
ing that  the  manager's  face  wore  an  air  of  depression. 

"You're  not  looking  specially  gay,"  he  commented. 

"I'm  not  feeling  it  either.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I'm 
very  worried  just  now." 

"What  about?"  Wilson  asked. 

There  was  no  reason  so  far  as  he  knew  for  the  man- 
ager to  be  worried.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  every 
cause  for  rejoicing.  The  hotel  was  full  to  overflowing, 
and  the  season  looked  as  if  it  were  a  record  one. 

74 


AN  EXPLANATION  75 

As  if  glad  to  find  someone  to  whom  he  could  unburden 
himself,  the  manager  invited  Wilson  to  his  private  office. 

Asking  him  to  be  seated,  he  turned  towards  a  cupboard. 
Producing  whisky  and  soda,  he  helped  his  guest  and  him- 
self. 

"I'm  pretty  sure  'The  Triple  Alliance'  will  pay  me 
another  visit,"  he  said  gloomily  on  sitting  down. 

"  The  Triple  Alliance.'    Who  and  what  are  they  ?" 

"The  smartest  lot  of  jewel  thieves  that  ever  made  an 
hotel  manager's  life  a  burden  to  him." 

"Where  do  they  hail  from  ?"  Wilson  asked. 

"No  one  knows.  They  were  first  heard  of  in  America 
about  six  or  seven  years  ago.  They're  not  the  ordinary 
style.  They  just  pick  up  a  valuable  bracelet  here  and 
there  and  then  pass  on.  They  stole  one  worth  nearly 
£1,000  in  this  hotel  last  December,  and  another  worth 
£500  in  Cannes  about  six  weeks  ago." 

"But  why  bracelets  specially?  Why  don't  they  take 
all  they  can  lay  hands  on  once  they  have  the  nerve  to  get 
into  anyone's  bedroom?" 

"They  don't  work  in  bedrooms,  but  in  public,  at  dances 
and  the  like,  stealing  bracelets  off  women's  wrists. 
There's  a  big  ball  on  here  next  Monday.  All  the  swells 
in  Nice  are  coming.  Considering  the  amount  of  jewelry 
there'll  be  on  show,  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  escape  their  atten- 
tions, although  I'm  taking  every  precaution.  It  gives  the 
place  such  a  bad  name,  especially  after  that  affair  last 
December." 

"Haven't  the  police  any  idea  who  they  are?"  Wilson 
inquired. 

"Not  the  faintest.  But  they  must  be  people  of  good 
appearance  and  address.  For  all  I  know,  they  may  be 


76  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

some  of  the  smartest  crowd  staying  in  the  hotel  at  this 
moment,"  the  manager  said  despondently. 

"But  why  'The  Triple  Alliance'  ?" 

"They  were  christened  that  in  the  States,  for  all  the 
police  there  ever  discovered  was  that  there  were  three 
of  them." 

"It  would  need  someone  with  a  pretty  good  nerve  to 
steal  things  in  the  open  like  that." 

"It  would,  I  agree.  Yet  'The  Triple  Alliance*  have 
stolen  about  £20,000  worth  of  jewelry  during  the  last  six 
years." 

"You'll  have  quite  a  lot  of  private  detectives  on  Mon- 
day then?" 

"Private  detectives  aren't  much  use  in  a  crowded  ball- 
room." 

"Then  it  seems  you're  pretty  powerless,"  Wilson  re- 
marked, getting  to  his  feet,  "but  I  wouldn't  worry  about 
the  thing  until  it  happens." 

As  he  made  his  way  towards  the  lift,  foremost  in  his 
mind  was  Desiree  de  Mailly's  necklace. 

She  was  in  that  lonely  house  miles  away  from  any- 
where, with  only  two  old  servants  and  a  dog.  She  had 
shown  the  necklace  to  him,  a  perfect  stranger ;  she  would 
be  just  as  likely  to  show  it  to  the  next  person  who  came 
along.  News  about  a  thing  so  valuable  as  her  heirloom 
soon  spreads.  And  there  was  this  gang  of  jewel  thieves 
working  the  Riviera ! 

Wilson  felt  he  must  go  back  at  once  to  the  old  chateau 
in  the  mountains  and  ask  Desiree  to  let  him  keep  the 
necklace  for  her  until  her  uncle  came  to  take  charge  of  it. 


CHAPTER  X 
SECLUSION 

The  next  afternoon  the  hoot  of  a  motor  reached 
Desiree  as  she  sat  knitting  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the 
garden.  Close  by  was  a  deep  wide  reservoir,  with  a  little 
tower  at  one  end.  Water  lillies  grew  in  it,  and  vines  and 
roses  climbed  up  the  tower.  Over  the  water  palms  and 
mimosa  drooped,  and  about  its  low  edge  a  mass  of  lav- 
ender grew.  On  one  wall  a  huge  stone  crocodile  crouched, 
water  dripping  softly  from  its  open  jaws  into  the  old 
tank.  Near  it  an  orange  tree,  with  great  balls  of  golden 
fruit,  gave  green  shade.  An  old  stone  seat  stood  under 
the  tree,  and,  close  by,  a  large,  flat,  oblong  block  of  gray 
granite,  that  had  once  been  an  olive  oil  press,  was  doing 
duty  as  a  table. 

At  the  sound  of  the  approaching  motor  the  frightened 
girl  dropped  her  work,  and  the  hound,  crouching  at  her 
feet,  growled  in  a  low,  menacing  manner.  A  strained 
expression  came  to  her  face.  It  must  be  either  her  uncle 
and  cousin  or  Mr.  Bassino. 

Presently  down  the  weed-grown  path  the  old  woman 
came  shuffling. 

"Who  is  it  ?  Desiree  asked  in  a  frightened  voke,  before 
the  servant  had  time  to  speak. 

"It's  the  English  gentleman,  ma  petite" 

A  look  of  relief  crossed  the  girl's  face. 

"Show  him  out  here,"  she  said.  "And  in  a  few  minutes 

77 


78  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

bring  some  tea.  Yes,  and  some  of  those  biscuits  you 
bought  for  my  uncle  and — and  Mr.  Bassino  when  they 
come." 

"He  will  eat  us  out  of  house  and  home,  this  English 
monsieur,"  the  old  crone  grumbled. 

She  shuffled  off,  back  to  the  terrace  where  Wilson  was 
waiting. 

Like  a  needle  towards  a  magnet  he  had  been  drawn 
towards  the  Domaine  de  Mailly.  In  a  seethe  of  impa- 
tience he  had  spent  the  previous  afternoon  and  all  that 
morning  staring  into  the  best  shops  in  Nice,  wanting 
nothing  but  to  buy  things  for  Desiree,  wondering  what, 
on  so  short  an  acquaintance,  he  dared  to  take  her. 

Finally,  he  purchased  a  large  wicker  basket  full  of 
crystallized  fruit,  a  specialty  of  the  Riviera,  that  had  in 
it,  among  other  delicacies,  a  whole  pineapple  and  a  melon. 
Considering  she  lived  in  the  wilds  where  dainties  were 
not  easily  procured,  he  bought,  also,  a  large  box  of  cakes 
and  another  of  chocolates,  his  one  idea  being  to  try  and 
get  that  half-starved  look  out  of  her  face. 

On  the  terrace  he  now  awaited  Juliette's  return,  the 
three  parcels  in  his  motor  just  betow. 

Presently  the  old  woman  came  back.  She  mumbled 
something  and  pointed  a  skinny  finger  towards  a  weed- 
grown  path.  From  her  gestures  Wilson  understood  his 
quarry  was  to  be  found  there. 

Retrieving  his  parcels,  he  went  in  that  direction. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  look  of  welcome  on  the 
little  face  turned  towards  him. 

"So  you're  none  the  worse  for  your  adventure?"  he 
said  after  greeting  Desiree. 

"No.    And  you,  monsieur?"  she  asked  shyly. 


SECLUSION  79 

"I'm  always  flourishing  nowadays.  More  so  than  ever 
just  at  present,"  he  added,  smiling  at  her. 

Then  he  put  the  three  packages  on  the  seat  at  her  side. 

"Considering  you  live  so  far  away  from  civilization,  I 
thought  you  wouldn't  be  offended  if  I  brought  a  few 
cakes,"  he  continued. 

"It's  very  kind  of  you.  We  don't  often  get  nice  cakes 
up  here,  not  like  the  ones  I  have  when  I  go  to  parties  with 
my  uncle  and  cousin." 

She  bent  over  his  gifts,  touching  them  in  the  nervous, 
shortsighted  way  he  knew  so  well  now. 

"Why,  there  are  three  parcels !"  she  exclaimed. 

"One  is  crystallized  fruit  and  the  other  chocolates," 
he  said  apologetically.  "The  woman  in  the  shop  where 
I  bought  the  cakes  pressed  them  on  me,  and  I  hadn't  the 
moral  courage  to  refuse." 

"Crystallized  fruit  and  chocolates!    Oh,  how  lovely!" 

Already  she  had  seized  the  wicker  basket  and  was  open- 
ing it. 

She  lifted  the  lid  and  ran  a  finger  lightly  over  one  of 
the  fruits. 

"That's  a  pineapple,  a  whole  pineapple,"  she  said. 
"And  that's  a  melon,"  she  went  on,  touching  another, 
•'and  that's  a  prickly  pear,"  she  continued,  laying  a  finger 
on  a  third. 

Wilson  watched  her,  too  infatuated  to  see  anything 
except  the  delight  his  gifts  had  caused. 

Then  she  opened  the  cakes  and  the  chocolates. 

"Don't  they  smell  nice?  You've  brought  enough  for 
an  army.  You  must  think  I'm  greedy." 

All  at  once  she  turned  towards  him,  suddenly  remem- 
bering her  duties  as  hostess, 

"I'm  keeping  you  standing.    Do  sit  down." 


So  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

He  seated  himself  beside  her.  She  picked  up  her  knit- 
ting and  started  working  away  industriously. 

Wilson  watched  her.  They  fascinated  him,  those 
slender  white  hands  so  busily  at  work  on  the  soft  wool, 
and  the  small  face  to  which  his  coming  had  brought  a 
look  of  furtive  happiness. 

Presently  tea  arrived,  and  a  saucer  on  which  half-a- 
dozen  biscuits  reposed. 

"Will— will  you  pour  the  tea?"  Desiree  asked.  "That 
teapot  is  so  big  and  heavy." 

It  was  a  great  brown  earthenware  coffee-pot,  about  a 
quarter  full. 

Wilson  was  only  too  ready  to  wait  on  her,  to  do  any 
task  she  deigned  to  assign  to  him. 

The  tea  was  of  a  pale  yellow,  and  tasted  principally 
of  smoke.  In  spite  of  this  it  seemed  to  him  the  most 
delicious  he  had  ever  tasted,  taken  with  Desiree  in  that 
peaceful  garden,  where  the  air  was  filled  with  the  scent 
of  wild  lavender  and  roses,  and  the  gentle  drip  of  water. 

He  had  what  he  wanted,  his  fairy  princess  all  to  him- 
self, to  wait  on  and  tend  and  pet,  as  the  two  old  servants 
did.  He  would  have  stuffed  her  with  the  dainties  he 
had  brought.  No  sooner  had  she  finished  one  cake  than 
he  was  holding  the  box  towards  her  again,  but  she  first 
missed  her  aim,  and  then  fumbled  in  getting  the  cake  out. 
A  frightened  look  crossed  her  face,  and  her  hands  started 
to  tremble  so  that  Wilson  glanced  round,  wondering  what 
the  matter  was,  thinking  some  of  her  relatives — whom  he 
already  cordially  hated — had  invaded  their  paradise,  and 
were  going  to  give  the  child  a  severe  lecture  for  enter- 
taining stray  men. 

Seeing  no  one,  he  had  to  account  for  her  agitation  in 
some  other  way. 


SECLUSION  81 

She  was  upset  at  her  own  clumsiness — the  clumsiness 
of  a  shy,  nervous  girl. 

"You're  a  bit  shortsighted,  aren't  you,  Countess?"  he 
remarked,  with  the  idea  of  putting  her  at  her  ease. 

At  his  words  she  flushed  painfully,  and  the  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes. 

His  comment  took  her  appetite  away.  When  he  offered 
the  cakes  again  she  refused. 

Wilson  had  arranged  with  himself  to  stay  an  hour,  but  it 
was  nearly  two  hours  before  he  rose  to  go.  During  the  time 
he  talked  to  Desiree  about  her  dog,  her  knitting,  the  trees 
and  flowers  round,  any  impersonal  subject  that  entered 
his  head,  and  that  would  bring  him  a  soft,  shy  answer, 
for  he  had  quickly  seen  that  she  was  not  used  to  asserting 
herself,  or  accustomed  to  taking  the  lead  in  any  way. 

It  was  not  Wilson's  habit  to  let  grass  grow  under  his 
feet.  Besides,  her  uncle  might  turn  up  any  minute  and 
clog  his  wheel. 

When  he  got  up  to  go  he  said : 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  out  for  lunch  to-morrow, 
Countess,  to  Monte  Carlo,  so  you  can  expect  me  round 
with  the  car  about  half-past  ten." 

"Oh,  no.  No,  thank  you,"  she  said  quickly,  alarm  in 
her  voice. 

"How's  that?    Don't  you  trust  my  driving?" 

"I  never  go  about  alone." 

Wilson  remembered  that  French  girls  of  her  class  did 
not  go  out  unchaperoned  with  their  male  acquiantances. 

"Juliette  will  make  an  excellent  chaperone,"  he  said. 

"I— I'd  rather  not  go,"  she  faltered. 

He  was  surprised  at  her  refusal.  Her  every  action 
said  she  liked  him,  that  his  attentions  were  welcome.  He 
had  a  gift  for  gaining  the  confidence  of  anything  weaker 


82  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

than  himself,  and  when  he  turned  this  talent  on  the  girl 
he  loved  it  amounted  to  genius. 

"Have  you  taken  a  sudden  dislike  to  me?"  he  asked 
teasingly. 

"You  know  it  isn't  that,"  she  whispered. 

"What  is  it,  then?"  he  asked  coaxingly,  bending  over 
her. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Her  lips  opened,  as 
if  to  make  some  confession,  and  closed  again  with  the 
words  unspoken,  as  he  had  noticed  once  or  twice  before. 

He  bent  a  little  lower. 

"What  is  the  dreadful  crime  ?"  he  asked  gently. 

"I'm  very  nervous  unless  I'm  with  people  who — who 
understand  me,"  she  confessed. 

He  could  quite  believe  that.  There  was  an  air  about 
her  as  if  she  had  never  lived  in  this  world,  but  in  one  of 
her  own,  quite  apart. 

"I  flatter  myself  that  I  understand  you,"  he  said.  "It 
would  give  me  so  much  pleasure  to  take  you,"  he  went 
on  persuasively.  "You  must  give  a  thought  to  that  before 
you  turn  me  down.  You  wouldn't  like  to  send  me  away 
in  tears,  now  would  you?" 

She  laughed,  a  little  tremulous  ripple  of  amusement. 
And  Wilson  felt  he  could  go  on  making  idiotic  remarks 
for  the  rest  of  his  life,  so  long  as  they  chased  that  tragic 
look  from  her  face. 

"I  couldn't  imagine  you  crying,  mon  ami"  she  said. 

"I  shall  if  you  don't  say  'yes.'  I  shall  weep  gallons 
here  in  front  of  you,  until  your  stony  heart  is  melted." 

Wilson  intended  to  have  his  own  way.  When  it  came 
to  a  battle  of  wills  between  a  man  like  himself  and  a 
girl  like  Desiree  de  Mailly,  there  was  not  much  doubt  as 
to  which  would  be  victor. 


SECLUSION  83 

"I  should  like  to  go  for  a  drive,  but  not  for  lunch,"  she 
said. 

It  seemed  to  Wilson  that  he  knew  the  reason  of  her 
modified  acceptance  of  his  invitation.  If  she  lunched 
out,  there  might  be  people  present  who  knew  her  and 
would  report  her  proceedings  to  her  relatives,  and  a  scold- 
ing would  be  the  outcome. 

He  had  no  wish  for  this  to  happen,  not  until  his  was 
the  right  to  take  his  stand  beside  her  and  bear  the  brunt 
of  her  guardian's  anger;  so  he  did  not  press  the  matter 
farther. 

"Very  well,  I'll  come  round  for  you  at  half-past  two 
then,"  he  said. 

He  was  most  anxious  to  take  her  somewhere,  apart 
from  the  pleasure  it  gave  him. 

The  last  two  hours  he  had  spent  with  her  had  left  him 
amazed  at  her  ignorance.  She  appeared  to  know  nothing 
at  all  of  what  was  happening  in  the  world,  next  to  nothing 
of  it.  He  had  gathered  from  her  conversation  that  she 
had  never  been  to  a  theater  or  a  music-hall,  or  to  a  concert 
even,  that  she  could  not  play  bridge,  or  drive  a  motor,  or 
play  tennis,  or  hockey,  or  golf,  or  billiards,  and  knew 
nothing  of  the  pastimes  the  average  girl  of  her  position 
indulged  in. 

"But  do  you  never  go  anywhere  or  see  anything?"  he 
had  asked,  astonished. 

"Sometimes  I  go  to  dances  with  my  uncle  and  cousin, 
but  not  very  often." 

"But  every  girl  ought  to  have  a  good  time,"  he  had 
said. 

Wistfully  she  had  smiled  at  him. 

Then  Wilson  had  remembered  the  £60  a  year,  and  he 
had  said  no  more  on  the  subject,  for  it  seemed  to  him 


84  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

that  poverty  shut  her  off  from  the  world  and  all  its  amuse- 
ments. 

Having  drawn  a  consent  from  the  girl,  he  was  silent 
for  a  moment.  Her  mention  of  dances  had  brought  "The 
Triple  Alliance"  back  to  his  mind. 

"And  I  want  you  to  do  one  more  thing  for  me,"  he 
went  on,  after  a  brief  pause.  "There's  a  gang  of  smart 
jewel  thieves  somewhere  near  here  just  at  present.  I 
want  you  to  let  me  have  charge  of  your  heirloom  until 
your  uncle  comes.  If  they  ever  get  an  inkling  of  the 
existence  of  a  necklace  like  yours,  they'll  be  here  in  no 
time." 

Wilson  expected  more  of  a  battle  over  the  necklace  than 
over  the  invitation. 

To  his  surprise  she  arose  at  once. 

"I  shouldn't  like  it  to  be  stolen,"  she  said,  alarm  in  her 
voice.  "My  uncle  would  be  so  cross.  I'll  fetch  it  at  once. 

Wilson  watched  her  go,  loving  her  more  than  ever. 
She  trusted  him  implicitly,  this  girl  who  had  known  him 
barely  forty-eight  hours! 

He  was  well  on  his  way  back  to  Nice,  with  "The  Neck- 
lace of  Tears"  in  his  pocket,  when  he  recollected  that 
Desiree  knew  neither  his  name  nor  address.  She  had 
called  him  "monsieur"  at  first,  and  once  or  twice  during 
tea  "mon  ami."  She  had  never  inquired  where  he  was 
staying,  who  he  was,  or  what  he  was  doing  in  Nice.  She 
seemed  to  take  him  for  granted,  as  some  one  who  came 
out  of  another  world  into  hers. 

He  laughed  to  himself.    He  would  see  that  such  per- 
fect trust  and  innocence  had  its  right  reward. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  GILBERTS 

By  moonlight,  the  country  between  Dijon  and  Lyons, 
when  passed  through  swiftly  when  one  is  half  asleep  in 
the  "Paris — Marseilles  rapide,"  looks  like  a  flat  white 
expanse,  with  here  and  there  a  silvery  sheet  of  water,  and 
always  tall  trees  with  long  bare  trunks  sticking  up  on  the 
landscape,  solitary  clumps  and  rows,  for  all  the  world  like 
gigantic  bulrushes. 

That  night  there  were  no  trains  going  swiftly  south- 
ward. An  unlooked-for  strike  had  upset  the  plans  and 
calculations  of  many  a  person. 

The  strike  had  sadly  interfered  with  the  arrangements 
of  the  Gilberts.  And  now  an  unexpected  hitch  in  their 
motor  had  added  to  their  misfortunes.  For  the  last  three 
hours  they  had  been  stranded  on  a  long  stretch  of  lonely, 
moon-flooded  road. 

Whilst  Eugene  leaned  over  the  engine  of  the  big  racing 
car,  his  father  cursed  profusely  in  a  variety  of  languages. 

"A  fortune  in  the  hands  of  that  little  fool,  and  us 
stranded  here,"  he  fumed. 

Then  he  shook  his  fist  towards  the  distant  railway. 

"Curse  them,"  he  shouted. 

From  the  raised  hood  came  a  muffled  laugh. 

"Curses  won't  end  the  strike,  mon  pcre,  or  it  would 
have  been  over  in  five  minutes.  Nor  will  they  mend  the 

85 


86  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

car,  or  get  us  to  Nice.  It  would  be  more  to  the  point  if 
you  gave  me  that  spanner.  Besides,  I  don't  mind  betting 
you  that  you'll  find  'The  Necklace  of  Tears'  a  fraud." 

The  Count  de  Gilbert  picked  up  the  spanner  that  an 
oily  finger  indicated. 

"But  I  saw  it  once,  years  ago,  Eugene,"  he  persisted. 
"I  tell  you  it's  worth  more  than  a  million  dollars  to-day. 
Think  what  that  means  to  us,  once  we  get  hold  of  it." 

"If  we  get  hold  of  the  original  necklace,  that  is," 
Eugene  answered  smoothly.  "But  I'm  pretty  certain  your 
planning  and  scheming  will  come  to  nothing.  Would  the 
old  Count  de  Mailly  have  kept  the  necklace  had  it  been 
worth  anything,  and  have  lived  for  a  quarter  of  a  century 
in  abject  poverty?  He  sold  the  original  years  ago,  before 
the  smash.  You'll  find  the  present  one  a  vile  imitation." 

"He  wouldn't  sell  it,  I  tell  you,"  the  older  man  said 
with  impatient  anger.  "He  loved  it  more  than  wife  or 
child.  It  spelt  his  god — money." 

Out  of  the  bonnet  came  an  ejaculation  of  disbelief,  and 
the  remark: 

"Would  I  keep  a  thing  worth  a  fortune,  and  live  on 
bread  and  radishes?  Not  much!  That  necklace  has 
obsessed  you  since  the  day  the  old  Count  died." 

"So  it  would  you  if  you  were  my  age.  I  tell  you  the 
life  we  lead  is  too  nerve-wearing  for  a  man  of  my  years." 

"It's  a  gay  life,  that's  the  main  thing." 

Eugene  paused. 

"There's  a  Mrs.  Green  staying  in  Nice  at  present,  the 
wife  of  a  rich  English  manufacturer — a  fat  old  woman, 
smothered  with  jewelry,  who  dotes  on  me.  I  shan't  let 
the  substance  go  for  the  shadow.  We've  only  a  thousand 
francs  between  us.  I  shall  keep  an  eye  on  her,  in  case 
the  necklace  doesn't  come  up  to  expectations." 


THE  GILBERTS  87 

So  saying,  Eugene  straightened  himself  and  closed  the 
bonnet. 

"Now,  mon  cher"  he  went  on,  wiping  his  hands  on  an 
oily  cloth,  "that  little  hitch  is  righted  at  last.  But  we've 
only  enough  petrol  for  another  fifty  miles,  then  time  will 
be  lost  in  a  hunt  for  more." 

His  words  set  his  father  fuming  again,  wringing  his 
hands  in  a  sort  of  mad  despair  at  the  thought  of  the  for- 
tune in  his  niece's  keeping  that  he  was  not  there  "to  take 
charge  of." 

The  Count  de  Gilbert  would  have  fumed  still  more  had 
he  known  that  "The  Necklace  of  Tears"  had  changed 
hands,  that  it  no  longer  had  an  unworldly  girl  for  its 
guardian,  but  was  in  the  keeping  of  a  wide-awake  business 
man. 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  MOTOR  TRIP 

The  next  afternoon  Wilson  was  driving  his  car  care- 
fully up  the  twisted  lane  that  led  to  the  old  chateau. 
Olive  trees  lined  the  drive,  gnarled  and  distorted,  their 
gray,  petrified-looking  trunks  splashed  with  greenish- 
yellow  lichen.  Occasionally  there  were  clumps  of  spiky 
aloes.  Here  and  there  a  Judas-tree  dripped  purple  tears 
on  the  weed-grown  drive — trees  quite  big  enough  to  hang 
one's  self  on. 

The  hoot  of  his  horn  reached  Desiree  as  she  sat  on  the 
terrace,  dressed  and  ready,  with  a  white  cloak  on  a  chair 
beside  her.  On  this  occasion  she  did  not  start  and 
tremble.  Somewhere  within  the  house  a  clock  had  just 
struck  half-past  two,  and  she  knew  who  the  visitor  was. 

She  was  snatching  a  fleeting  joy  from  the  fact  of  Wil- 
son's company,  but  she  had  been  too  long  subservient  to 
her  guardian  to  think  as  yet  of  enlisting  her  new  friend's 
aid  against  the  approaching  marriage  she  hated.  There 
was  a  fearsome  joy  attached  to  being  with  this  English- 
man, and  terror  also,  lest  he  should  find  out  a  certain 
fact  about  her,  and,  because  of  it,  turn  from  her — a  fact 
she  was  doing  her  best  to  keep  from  him. 

Wilson's  step  on  the  terrace  brought  a  shy  look  of 
welcome  to  her  face. 

"Are  you  quite  ready  ?"  he  asked,  after  greeting  her. 

She  stood  up  at  once,  her  hand  going  to  the  cloak  on 
the  chair  beside  her. 

88 


A  MOTOR  TRIP  89 

Askance  he  looked  at  the  wrap.  It  was  a  pretty  gar- 
ment, white  and  fringed,  but  thin  and  of  poor  quality, 
painfully  inadequate  for  a  long  motor  drive. 

"You'd  better  have  something  thicker,"  he  remarked. 

"I — I  haven't  anything  thicker.  I  don't  often  go  motor- 
ing." 

He  was  sorry  he  had  spoken,  and  he  cursed  himself 
for  a  clumsy  fool.  How  could  the  child  have  clothes  for 
all  occasions  on  £60  a  year! 

"Never  mind,"  he  said  soothingly,  "I've  an  extra  coat 
in  the  car." 

Because  his  words  had  distressed  her,  he  drew  her  arm 
through  his,  with  a  little  patting,  consoling  gesture,  and 
went  with  her  down  the  steps  to  the  car. 

He  took  a  thick  overcoat  from  the  car,  and  assisted 
her  into  it 

"It's  like  your  other  coat,  tnon  ami,"  she  remarked, 
when  it  was  on,  rubbing  a  finger  up  and  down  its  surface. 

He  laughed  tenderly.  She  seemed  to  have  an  affection 
even  for  his  clothes,  this  poor,  neglected  little  fairy  prin- 
cess. 

"It's  much  the  same  sort  of  thing,"  he  answered. 

He  helped  her  into  the  car,  into  the  seat  next  the 
driver's.  She  arranged  herself  in  the  slow  way  he  was 
accustomed  to  now,  as  if  she  had  not  strength  to  hurry. 

Afterwards  he  wrapped  a  rug  about  her  knees.  Then, 
producing  another,  he  tucked  Juliette  away  in  the  back 
of  the  car,  as  if  she  were  a  luncheon  hamper. 

Seating  himself  beside  Desiree,  he  set  off  down  the 
drive. 

Once  out  on  the  high  road  they  raced  along,  with  a 
wealth  of  peaceful  hills  and  shady  valleys  on  either  side, 
and  a  stretch  of  azure  sea  in  the  distance. 


90  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

More  than  once  Wilson  glanced  at  his  companion. 

She  sat  in  silence,  her  hands  clasped  on  her  knee,  her 
misty  eyes  downcast  beneath  their  dark,  fringing  lashes. 
Despite  the  beauty  of  the  view,  she  never  once  looked  to 
the  right  or  the  left,  or  made  any  comment  •  on  the 
scenery. 

But  now  he  had  learned  that,  like  an  old-fashioned  child, 
she  rarely  spoke  unless  spoken  to. 

"Are  you  fond  of  motoring,  Countess?"  he  asked 
presently. 

"I  like  to  feel  the  wind  on  my  face,"  she  answered. 

He  urged  the  car  still  faster,  and  was  not  long  in  reach- 
ing Nice.  There  a  more  sober  pace  had  to  be  adopted. 
They  drove  through  the  town,  along  a  palm-grown 
promenade,  where  the  blue  sea  broke  on  gray  pebbles. 

"That's  where  I'm  staying,"  he  remarked  presently, 
glancing  towards  a  palatial  hotel. 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  she  did  not  look 
in  the  direction  he  had  indicated. 

It  was  on  his  lips  to  ask  Decree  to  let  him  take  her  to 
the  dance  at  the  hotel  the  following  evening,  but  he  re- 
membered that  Juliette  would  hardly  do  for  a  chaperone 
on  suoh  an  occasion. 

In  course  of  time  Nice  was  left  behind.  The  car 
mounted  the  hills  on  the  other  side,  climbing  upwards 
along  a  road  that  curled  among  the  mountains,  giving 
glimpses  of  deep  clefts  full  of  pines  and  eucalyptus  trees. 

All  at  once  the  sea  burst  into  view  again,  far  below  a 
glorious  stretch,  in  streaks  and  patches  of  sapphire,  jade, 
and  navy,  that  melted  away  into  distance,  where  Corsica 
lay  like  a  shadow  on  the  horizon. 

Above  was  a  cloudless  sky  of  deepest  blue.  The  air 
was  gold,  tinged  with  sunshine.  From  the  heights  above 


A  MOTOR  TRIP  .  91 

came  the  soft,  cold  breath  of  snow,  from  below  the  incense 
of  pines,  and  a  slight  salt  breeze  from  the  sea. 

"We're  going  along  the  Grande  Corniche,"  Desiree 
remarked  presently.  "Once  Eugene  took  me.  I  love  it. 
It  is  so  cool  and  sweet." 

Wilson  drove  slowly  along  a  mountain  road  that  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  most  magnificent  routes  in  the  world, 
anxious  that  his  companion  should  miss  nothing  of  the 
panorama  unfolding  before  them. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  a  bald,  gray,  buttress-like 
rock  into  view,  standing  well  below  them  but  high  above 
the  sea.  On  it  a  tiny  village  huddled,  looking  as  if  hewn 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  so  at  one  with  it  that  the  place  could 
easily  have  been  overlooked. 

"That  must  be  Eze,"  Wilson  said. 

"Juliette  has  a  married  daughter  living  there,"  Desiree 
volunteered. 

A  further  bend  in  the  road  brought  a  burst  of  snow- 
clad  heights,  a  round  of  gray  hills  and  deep  green  valleys 
up  which  pines  marched. 

"Don't  those  mountains  look  a  treat  with  the  sun  on 
them  ?"  he  remarked,  glancing  at  the  glittering  white  peaks 
that  pierced  an  azure  sky. 

Desiree  turned  her  face  to  meet  their  cold,  pure  breath. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  her  voice  a  whisper. 

On  arriving  at  Monte  Carlo,  Wilson  drew  up  before 
the  finest  hotel  in  the  place. 

"Shall  we  have  tea  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  quickly. 

At  once  he  started  the  car  again. 

"Of  course  we  won't,  if  you'd  rather  not,  little  girl," 
he  said,  his  mind  on  her  relatives,  his  one  desire  to  gain 
her  confidence.  "I'm  only  out  to  do  what  you  want.  I'll 


92  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

get  a  box  of  chocolates  at  the  next  shop  we  pass,  and  we'll 
make  that  do  instead." 

"I  haven't  eaten  a  quarter  of  what  you  brought  yester- 
day," she  said  in  a  relieved  tone  of  voice. 

"You  must  nibble  your  way  through  them  quicker  than 
that,  for  I'm  coming  to  see  you  again  to-morrow  after- 
noon and  I  shall  bring  another  box." 

"Are  you  coming  to-morrow?"  she  exclaimed,  like  a 
pleased  child.  "It  is  so  nice  to  have  a  friend." 

As  Wilson  drove  along,  he  wondered  how  long  the  time 
would  be  before  he  could  propose.  A  three  days' 
acquaintance  seemed  a  trifle  hurried,  a  week  unthinkably 
long.  So  he  decided  to  wait  another  two  days.  Then  he 
brought  it  down  to  one. 

It  would  be  just  as  well  to  make  sure  of  the  little 
Countess  before  her  guardian  arrived. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  GILBERTS  VISIT  DESIRED 

Late  that  night  the  hoot  of  a  motor  coming  along  the 
distant  road  reached  Desiree.  When  the  sound  fell  on 
her  ears  she  was  sitting  at  her  open  bedroom  window, 
through  which  a  soft  scented  breeze  wafted.  It  was  well 
after  midnight,  and  only  a  car  bound  for  her  premises 
would  be  likely  to  come  along  the  road  at  that  hour.  And 
the  time  of  its  arrival  said  it  was  not  Mr.  Bassino. 

She  had  been  brooding  on  the  Brazilian,  the  man  she 
would  so  soon  have  to  call  "husband,"  although  to  her 
the  word  held  no  meaning  except  that  he  would  be  with 
her  always,  and  his  would  be  the  right  to  kiss  and  fondle 
her.  It  seemed  to  her  that  death  would  be  preferable. 

She  had  been  thinking  about  Wilson  too.  The  next 
time  he  came  she  would  tell  him  about  the  approaching 
marriage  she  hated;  he  was  so  kind  and  strong,  this 
English  friend  who  had  come  so  unexpectedly  into  her 
life,  that  he  might  be  able  to  do  something  to  help  her. 

But  with  the  hoot  of  that  motor  in  her  ears  her  decision 
began  to  waver.  Her  guardian  was  coming;  he  would 
insist  on  the  marriage.  Would  she  dare  to  go  against  his 
decree  ? 

Her  small  hands  clasped  each  other  in  an  agony  of 
helplessness. 

If  only  she  had  told  her  new  friend  about  Mr.  Bassino! 
If  only  she  could  be  quite  sure  of  his  aid ! 

93 


94  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

A  nearer  hoot  brought  her  to  her  feet  hurriedly,  her 
white  cotton  dressing-gown  falling  in  soft  folds  about  her, 
her  golden  hair  hanging  in  two  thick  plaits  to  her  knees. 
Without  pausing  to  light  a  candle,  she  passed  across  the 
dark  room  and  then  down  the  long  black  corridor,  a 
white  wraith  in  the  shadows. 

Outside  one  of  the  heavy  wooden  doors  she  paused, 
and,  knocking,  opened  it. 

"Juliette,  I  hear  them  coming,"  she  called  breathlessly. 

The  woman  got  up,  a  withered  figure  in  a  calico  night- 
gown, an  old-fashioned  tasselled  nightcap  on  her  wisp 
of  iron-gray  hair. 

Crossing  the  room,  she  pushed  open  one  of  the  tightly 
shut  windows,  and  stood  with  her  head  poked  out,  listen- 
ing. 

Another  hoot,  closer  at  hand,  came  to  break  the  silence 
of  the  night. 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  them  this  time,"  she  muttered. 

"Where's  Wolf?"  the  girl  asked  anxiously.  "He  doesn't 
like  them,  and  Eugene  has  threatened  to  shoot  him  if  he 
dares  to  growl  at  him  again." 

A  look  of  anxiety  came  to  Juliette's  face. 

"He's  in  the  hall,  ma  petite.  Call  him  and  shut  him 
in  your  bedroom,  and  keep  him  there  all  night  if  they 
should  be  sleeping  here." 

Like  a  shadow  Desiree  passed  quickly  down  the  wide, 
dark  staircase. 

"Wolf!    Wolf!"  she  called  softly. 

The  echoes  of  her  soft  voice  went  whispering  through 
the  gloomy  length  of  the  huge  hall. 

A  moment  later  a  cold  nose  touched  her  hand. 

Putting  a  finger  through  the  dog's  collar,  she  took  him 


THE  GILBERTS  VISIT  DESIREE  95 

upstairs  into  her  own  room.  Shutting  the  door  carefully, 
she  went  downstairs  again  into  the  dining  room. 

Presently  Juliette  appeared  with  a  lamp,  which  she  set 
on  the  table. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  car  drawing  up  near  the 
terrace,  followed  almost  immediately  by  a  loud  knock  on 
the  front  door. 

Juliette  left  the  room. 

A  few  moments  later  the  two  Gilberts  entered. 

Desiree  turned  to  meet  the  newcomers. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  journey,"  she  said  dutifully, 
after  greeting  her  uncle. 

"A  pleasant  journey!"  he  snapped.  "How  could  it 
have  been  a  pleasant  journey  with  this  strike  on?" 

Eugene  came  forward,  flicking  his  leather  gloves  play- 
fully against  her  face,  yet  with  a  sting  that  streaked  her 
cheek  with  red  and  made  her  wince  with  pain. 

"Your  uncle  had  booked  berths  in  the  wagon  lit,  ma 
cherie,"  he  remarked,  "so  he  didn't  take  kindly  to  four 
days  in  the  motor,  not  to  mention  the  dust  and  the  vile 
hotels.  But  aren't  you  going  to  say  you're  pleased  to 
see  me  ?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  Eugene,"  she  said  nervously. 

"Well,  you  haven't  a  very  effusive  way  of  showing  it. 
Give  me  a  kiss,  little  cousin." 

He  would  have  taken  one  there  and  then,  but  Desiree 
moved  away. 

"I  don't  like  being  kissed,"  she  said,  distress  in  her 
voice. 

"But  I  like  kissing  you,  which  is  the  main  thing  so  far 
as  I'm  concerned." 

He  slipped  an  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  to  his 
side,  laughing  when  she  tried  to  get  away.  Then  he 


96  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

kissed  her,  not  once,  but  several  times.  When  he  released 
her  she  was  tearful  and  trembling. 

"Let  her  alone,  can't  you?"  his  father  interposed. 
"There  are  plenty  of  other  women,  without  you  starting 
on  her." 

"Desiree  is  different — so  innocent  and  frightened,  so 
refreshingly  resistant.  No  wonder  Bassino  went  mad 
over  her.  I  should  have  done  so  myself  except  that  we 
were  brought  up  together." 

The  mere  mention  of  the  Brazilian's  name  made  the 
girl  shiver.  Eugene  noted  this,  and  he  laughed  in  a  cruel 
manner. 

"He'll  be  here  any  day  now,  my  child,"  he  went  on. 
"Then,  if  you  faint  every  time  he  kisses  you,  you'll  spend 
your  life  in  fainting." 

"You  mustn't  take  all  your  cousin  says  too  much  to 
heart,"  her  uncle  broke  in,  seating  himself  and  drawing 
the  girl  to  his  side. 

"So,  Desiree,  you're  twenty-one  ?"  he  continued,  in  the 
same  would-be  amiable  manner. 

"Yes,  Uncle." 

"And  did  old  Froillet  bring  you  the  family  heirloom, 
according  to  the  terms  of  your  grandfather's  will  ?" 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"Then  let  us  have  a  look  at  it.  I  want  to  see  what  the 
de  Mailly  curse  is  really  like,"  he  said,  a  parched,  covetous 
note  in  his  voice. 

"I'm  sorry,  uncle,  but  it  isn't  here." 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence. 

"Isn't  here?    What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"I  showed  it  to  an  English  gentleman,  and  he  said  it 
wasn't  safe  to  keep  it  here  in  this  lonely  place.  He  asked 


THE  GILBERTS  VISIT  DESIREE  97 

me  to  let  him  look  after  it  until  you  came,  so  I  did, 
because  I  knew  you  wouldn't  like  to  have  it  stolen." 

The  Count  de  Gilbert  just  stared  at  the  girl,  but  Eugene 
laughed. 

"Mon  Dieu!    What  innocence !"  he  ejaculated. 

With  a  snarl  his  father  turned  on  him. 

"You  laugh!"  he  gasped.    "You  laugh!" 

"Well,  isn't  it  one  of  the  biggest  jokes  that  ever  came 
our  way  ?  We  shall  see  neither  that  Englishman  nor  the 
necklace  again." 

"He  said  he  would  bring  it  back  when  you  came,  and 
I  know  he  will,"  Desiree  put  in  with  trembling  indigna- 
tion. 

Her  voice  made  her  uncle  turn  in  her  direction  again. 

"What  is  the  man's  name?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  met  him  by  chance  on  the  road  here." 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
his  ears. 

"You  little  fool !    You  little  fool !"  he  cried  savagely. 

"It  proves  the  necklace  was  worth  having,  or  this 
Englishman  wouldn't  have  gone  off  with  it,"  Eugene 
remarked. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  cousin. 

"Where  is  he  staying,  Desiree,  my  innocent?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  never  asked  him." 

"I  told  you  that  necklace  would  prove  a  fraud,  but  it's 
even  more  of  a  sell  than  I  expected,"  he  said,  this  time 
addressing  his  father. 

"Ring  for  Juliette,  you  fool,  and  find  out  what  she 
knows,"  was  the  savage  answer. 

All  the  bells  in  the  house  were  broken,  but  Eugene's 
call  reached  the  old  woman,  crouched  in  the  dark  hall, 
listening  to  the  angry  voices  in  the  dining  room. 


98  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

The  moment  she  appeared  the  old  Count  turned  on  her 
furiously. 

"Who  has  been  tampering  with  your  mistress?"  he 
demanded. 

"An  Englishman  has  been  here  once  or  twice,  that's 
all,"  she  answered. 

"Do  you  know  the  Countess  has  given  him  The  Neck- 
lace of  Tears'?" 

"The  necklace  is  the  Countess  Desiree's  to  do  what  she 
likes  with,"  Juliette  answered  defiantly. 

Again  Eugene  laughed. 

"This  is  what  you  didn't  expect,  mon  p&re,"  he  re- 
marked. "  'A  pretty  kettle  of  fish,'  that  Englishman 
would  say." 

"There's  no  need  for  you  to  be  so  angry,  uncle," 
Desiree  broke  in.  "The  gentleman  is  coming  here  to- 
morrow afternoon,  and  I  know  he  will  give  you  the  neck- 
lace when  you  ask  him  for  it." 

Eugene  glanced  at  her  sharply. 

"You  seem  to  know  a  lot  about  him,  Desiree,  even  if 
you  don't  know  his  name  and  address.  You  prefer  him 
to  Bassino,  eh?" 

His  comment  brought  a  flood  of  color  to  her  thin 
cheeks,  and  had  the  effect  of  silencing  her  completely. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WILSON  MEETS  THE  GILBERTS 

The  following  afternoon,  when  Wilson  entered  his 
paradise,  he  found  the  serpent  there.  The  first  indication 
he  had  of  its  presence  was  a  large  racing  car  drawn  up 
under  the  terrace.  It  did  not  need  Juliette's  gestures  to 
tell  him  Desiree' s  guardian  had  arrived. 

Leaving  in  his  car  the  offerings  he  had  brought  for  his 
goddess,  he  made  his  way  along  the  weed-grown  path 
towards  the  shady  corner  by  the  old  stone  reservoir  with 
the  crocodile,  where  he  gathered  Desiree  and  her  uncle 
were. 

He  found  not  only  her  guardian  there,  but  another  man 
whom  he  guessed  to  be  her  cousin,  for  the  two  were 
unmistakably  father  and  son,  both  polished  men  of  the 
world,  of  a  class  that  had  not  come  into  Wilson's  life 
hitherto. 

Wilson's  footsteps  brought  a  blush  to  the  girl's  face 
which  her  cousin  was  quick  to  note.  She  turned  towards 
him  nervously,  as  if  to  make  some  request.  Whatever 
the  request  was,  it  remained  unspoken,  bitter  experience 
having  taught  her  that  anything  she  asked  her  cousin  not 
to  do  was  the  very  thing  he  did. 

Eugene  heard  Wilson's  approach  also.  He  glanced 
round  and  surveyed  the  newcomer  in  a  supercilious 
manner. 

"So  this  is  the  man  little  Desiree  fancies/'  he  remarked 
teasingly,  sotto  voce. 

99 


ioo  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

His  comment  made  her  color  deepen. 

With  trembling  voice  she  greeted  Wilson. 

"This  is  the  English  gentleman  who  so  kindly  took 
charge  of  my  necklace,"  she  said,  introducing  him  to  her 
relatives. 

Then  she  turned  towards  him  again. 

"Monsieur,  this  is  my  uncle,  the  Count  de  Gilbert,  and 
my  cousin,  Eugene.  They  both  speak  English,"  she  said. 

After  that  she  sat  in  silence,  obviously  ill  at  ease. 

The  Gilberts  greeted  Wilson  cordially;  nevertheless  he 
was  made  to  feel  that,  but  for  the  fact  of  the  necklace 
being  in  his  possession,  they  would  be  quite  equal  to 
calling  him  "my  good  man." 

He  had  always  known  that  he  would  dislike  Desiree's 
relatives,  but  he  did  not  know  he  would  dislike  them 
quite  so  heartily. 

At  their  invitation  he  seated  himself;  then  the  Count 
inquired  his  name  and  address. 

"I  understand  my  niece  did  not  bother  about  making 
these  inquiries,"  he  finished,  smiling  at  Desiree,  as  if  the 
fact  of  her  naivete  amused  him. 

Wilson  mentioned  who  he  was  and  where  he  was  stay- 
ing. 

"Living  all  alone  here  in  the  country  seems  to  have 
made  the  Countess  de  Mailly  remarkably  unworldly,"  he 
added. 

Although  he  had  no  intention  of  wearing  his  heart  on 
his  sleeve,  he  could  not  keep  a  touch  of  tenderness  out  of 
his  voice  on  mentioning  her  name. 

"Of  course,  circumstances  naturally  tend  to  make  her 
so,"  her  uncle  remarked. 

Immediately  Wilson  associated  the  comment  with  her 
poverty,  and  he  felt  an  intense  hatred  for  the  two  men. 


WILSON  MEETS  THE  GILBERTS         101 

They  had  every  appearance  of  wealth  and  prosperity. 
That  car  of  theirs  was  the  latest  and  most  up-to-date 
pattern,  and  must  have  cost  about  £2,000.  Yet  they  re- 
fused to  let  the  child  sell  her  heirloom,  and  left  her  to 
starve  on  £60  a  year  and  the  little  that  could  be  made  on 
the  produce  of  her  estate. 

There  was  a  brief  silence. 

Until  meeting  the  Gilberts,  Wilson  had  had  the  greater 
dislike  for  Desiree's  uncle,  but  now  he  positively  loathed 
her  cousin.  He  hated  Eugene's  every  look  and  action — 
his  handsome,  polished  exterior,  the  cut  and  fit  of  his 
clothes,  his  aristocratic  air;  but  most  of  all  the  way  he 
sat  with  his  chair  quite  close  to  Desiree's,  his  arm  along 
the  back  of  hers,  every  now  and  again  touching  her  cheek, 
or  playing  with  the  loose  curls  that  twisted  themselves 
so  fascinatingly  about  her  white  neck.  And  it  was  evident 
she  did  not  want  his  attentions.  She  drew  away  each 
time  he  touched  her,  with  an  air  of  helpless  resistance. 
And  he  seemed  to  take  a  wicked  delight  in  teasing  her. 

Eugene  himself  broke  the  silence,  speaking  in  French 
quickly,  and  smiling  maliciously  as  he  spoke. 

"I  don't  think  much  of  your  choice,  Desiree.  The  man 
looks  like  a  navvy  in  his  Sunday  clothes.  He's  'no  class,' 
as  his  own  sort  in  England  would  say." 

Although  Wilson  could  not  understand  what  was  said, 
he  heard  the  disparaging  tone.  He  heard  the  "no  class" 
too;  for  that  was  said  in  his  own  language,  and  he  was 
pretty  certain  he  was  being  referred  to. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that,  Eugene,"  Desiree 
said  in  French,  with  gentle  dignity.  "Mr.  Wilson  is  my 
friend." 

"When  Bassino  comes  along  he'll  soon  send  your  friend 
to  the  right  about.  He  won't  allow  any  trespassers. 


102  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Aren't  you  counting  the  days  until  he  comes  ?  Didn't  you 
cry  your  eyes  out  because  the  strike  has  kept  him  away  ?" 

Wilson  watched  the  two,  wondering  what  was  being 
said,  noting  the  girl's  terrorized  expression,  the  man's 
cruel,  teasing  tone,  feeling  above  all  things  that  he  would 
like  to  thrash  the  handsome  devil. 

The  Count's  voice  attracted  Wilson's  attention. 

"My  niece  tells  me  you  very  kindly  volunteered  to  take 
charge  of  her  necklace  until  I  came." 

Wilson  agreed  he  had.  Then  he  explained  how  he  had 
met  Desiree,  and  the  circumstances  that  led  up  to  the 
necklace  being  in  his  keeping. 

During  his  speech  a  slight  smile  lingered  on  Eugene's 
face. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  the  latter  asked. 

"I've  seen  enough  of  gems  to  know  it's  worth  a 
fortune,"  Wilson  replied.  "And  the  last  place  to  keep  it 
is  in  this  lonely  house,  and  the  last  person  to  have  charge 
of  it  is  the  Countess  de  Mailly." 

The  Gilberts  exchanged  glances,  and  an  avaricious, 
relieved  look  crept  into  the  Count's  eyes. 

"Well,  well,  you  must  blame  the  railway  strike,"  the 
latter  answered,  in  a  voice  that  had  suddenly  grown  flat 
with  emotion.  "In  the  ordinary  course  of  events  I  should 
have  been  here  to  take  charge  of  it.  However,  no  harm 
is  done,  and  we  must  thank  you,  Mr.  Wilson,  for  troub- 
ling yourself  in  the  matter." 

He  paused,  expecting  Wilson  to  hand  over  the  neck- 
lace there  and  then. 

Although  Wilson  knew  this  was  expected  of  him,  he 
showed  no  signs  of  producing  the  heirloom. 

"Now  that  we  are  here,"  Eugene  put  in  suavely,  "it'll 
be  quite  safe  for  my  cousin  to  have  her  necklace." 


WILSON  MEETS  THE  GILBERTS         103 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  haven't  it  with  me,"  Wilson  said 
smoothly.  "For  safety's  sake  I  deposited  it  with  my 
banker." 

This  was  not  true.  At  that  moment  the  necklace  was 
lying  in  a  little  washleather  bag  in  one  of  his  inner  pockets. 
Since  it  had  been  in  his  keeping,  in  the  daytime  it  rested 
on  his  heart,  at  night  under  his  pillow,  where  he  tossed 
on  it  in  fitful  slumber,  hoping  Desiree  would  put  her 
future  into  his  hands  as  readily  as  she  had  put  her  neck- 
lace. 

Although  her  uncle  and  cousin  had  greeted  him  with 
affability  and  friendliness,  he  did  not  trust  them.  His 
one  idea  was  not  to  let  the  necklace  fall  into  their  posses- 
sion, and  the  only  excuse  he  could  think  of  was  to  pretend 
it  was  at  the  bank. 

At  his  reply  there  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  the 
Count  de  Gilbert's  throat  jerked  with  a  peculiar  choking 
movement. 

"And  a  very  safe  place  for  it  to  be,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  swallowed  his  chagrin.  "But  we  won't  trouble  you 
to  come  up  here  with  it.  We'll  come  around  to  your 
hotel  for  it  to-morrow  at  about  eleven  in  the  morning." 

Wilson  could  find  no  excuse  for  keeping  it  longer. 

"Eleven  will  suit  me  all  right,"  he  said.  "I  shall  be 
quite  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  responsibility  and  know  it's  in 
safe  keeping." 

A  look  of  relief  passed  over  the  Count's  face,  but 
Eugene's  gaze  rested  on  him  speculatively. 

"You  must  stay  and  have  chocolate  with  us,"  the  elder 
Gilbert  went  on.  "Or  tea,  if  you  prefer  it.  That's  what 
the  English  generally  drink  at  this  hour,  is  it  not?" 

Wilson  looked  at  Desiree,  hoping  she  would  second 
the  invitation. 


104  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Since  the  introduction  she  had  not  addressed  a  word 
to  him.  She  sat  with  her  eyes  downcast,  knitting,  and 
every  now  and  again  her  hands  stumbled  over  the  work. 

Each  time  her  uncle  or  cousin  spoke  she  started 
nervously,  and  her  hands  trembled  as  they  worked  away 
at  the  soft  wool.  All  through  the  interview  it  had  been 
obvious  to  Wilson  that  she  lived  in  terror  of  her  relatives, 
and  the  fact  cut  him  to  the  quick.  It  was  torture  to  him 
to  see  the  girl  he  loved  so  wildly  and  passionately,  and 
with  all  the  force  of  his  strong  nature,  reduced  to  such  a 
state  of  fear  by  those  who  should  have  been  her  pro- 
tectors. Above  all  things,  he  wanted  to  go  to  her  side, 
to  take  those  trembling  hands  into  one  of  his,  to  put  his 
arm  round  her  slender,  drooping  figure,  to  press  her  close 
to  him,  so  that  she  could  feel  all  the  strength  and  pro- 
tection that  lay  within  his  embrace,  to  whisper  in  her  ear  : 

"There's  no  need  to  be  afraid  of  those  two  villains  now, 
Princess.  I'm  here  to  look  after  you." 

But  he  could  only  sit  still  in  his  chair,  under  a  mask 
of  good  fellowship,  hating  the  Gilberts  with  a  deep  and 
silent  hatred. 

Villains,  that  was  what  his  mind  had  dubbed  them,  for 
only  villains  could  find  it  in  their  nature  to  inspire  with 
terror  so  gentle  and  timid  a  child. 

Since  Desiree  did  not  second  her  uncle's  invitation, 
Wilson  rose  to  go. 

It  was  obvious  that  for  some  reason  she  wanted  him 
to  go. 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay,"  he  said,  "but  I  liave  to  be 
back  at  half-past  four." 

So  saying,  he  made  his  adieux. 

He  went  back  to  his  car,  at  odds  with  the  whole  world. 


WILSON  MEETS  THE  GILBERTS         105 

There  was  no  mistake  about  it  that  the  Gilberts  had 
turned  Desiree  against  him. 

With  a  gloomy  look  on  his  face  he  got  into  his  car,  but 
there  was  some  slight  hitch  that  prevented  it  from 
starting,  and  he  had  to  get  out  again. 

He  was  not  long  in  rectifying  matters.  Then  he  set 
off  down  the  drive. 

As  he  turned  out  of  the  garden,  he  saw  Desiree  coming 
along  one  of  the  tangled  paths.  He  stopped  at  once,  for 
it  seemed  as  if  she  had  come  purposely  to  waylay  him. 

In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side. 

"You  won't  fail  to  let  my  uncle  have  the  necklace?" 
she  said  anxiously.  "He  was  so  angry  when  he  heard 
what  I  had  done.  He  says  it  was  very  foolish  of  me  to 
trust  a  total  stranger." 

Tenderly  Wilson  watched  her. 

"I  was  hoping  I  was  long  past  the  stage  of  a  stranger," 
he  said. 

"Yes.    But " 

It  seemed  to  Wilson  that  counter  influences  were 
already  at  work,  coming  between  him  and  his  ideal. 

There  was  a  brief  pause. 

He  was  wondering  whether  he  would  propose  there 
and  then,  before  matters  grew  worse.  But  he  saw  that 
the  girl  was  nervous  and  agitated,  in  no  mood  to  listen  to 
what  he  had  to  say. 

"I  want  to  see  you  alone,  Countess,"  he  said  presently. 
"What  about  to-night  after  dinner?" 

"I  think  my  uncle  wants  to  take  me  out" 

"Well,  to-morrow  morning  then,  quite  early?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  at  once.  "My  uncle  and  Eugene 
are  never  here  in  the  morning." 

"Then  you  can  expect  me  between  nine  and  ten,  so  that 


106  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

I  can  get  back  to  Nice  in  time  to  deliver  up  your  neck- 
lace." 

He  made  a  mental  addition — "if  necessary." 
If  Desiree  deigned  to  accept  him,  Wilson  intended  to 
keep  the  necklace.     He  would  have  as  much  right  to  it 
then  as  her  relatives,  and  he  would  see  to  it  that  it  was 
put  where  the  Gilberts  could  not  get  at  it. 

So  thinking,  he  took  the  helpless  hands  that  had  put  the 
necklace  into  his  with  such  perfect  trust  and  innocence, 
and,  lifting  them  to  his  lips,  kissed  them  tenderly. 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  PAIR  OF  KNAVES 

In  the  meantime  by  the  reservoir  the  Gilberts  sat 
talking. 

"Well,  Eugene,"  the  older  man  was  saying,  with  an  air 
of  triumph,  "you  see  I  was  right  about  the  necklace.  A 
fortune  in  our  hands." 

"It  isn't  in  our  hands,"  his  son  replied.  "It's  in  Wil- 
son's hands,  which,  believe  me,  is  rather  different." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  old  Count  asked  sharply. 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  he  found  some  excuse  for 
not  giving  it  up.  He  may  even  decamp  with  it  between 
now  and  to-morrow.  He's  a  sharp  customer." 

For  a  moment  his  words  placed  his  father  beyond 
speech. 

"Then  why  hasn't  he  gone  off  sooner?"  he  managed 
to  gasp  at  length. 

"Because  he  wants  to  make  a  legitimate  deal  of  it. 
He  wants  Desiree  as  well.  Your  head  is  so  full  of  the 
necklace  that  you  can't  see  what's  going  on  under  your 
nose.  We're  not  out  of  the  woods  yet." 

"We  can  force  him  to  give  it  up,"  the  Count  spluttered. 

"It  won't  be  so  easy  to  force  a  man  like  Wilson.  We've 
no  proof  that  he  has  the  necklace,  no  receipt,  only 
Desiree's  word.  And  as  for  going  to  the  police  about  the 
matter,  it  would  be  most  undiplomatic  on  our  part.  Even 
you  will  agree  with  this,"  his  son  went  on. 

107 


io8  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

At  this  remark  a  scared  look  came  to  the  Count's  face. 

"Wilson  may  propose  to  Desiree,"  Eugene  continued. 
"She'd  be  sure  to  accept  him,  for  she  likes  Wilson  and 
loathes  Bassino.  It  would  be  no  use  telling  Wilson  she's 
promised  to  the  Dago.  He'd  merely  put  the  question  of 
preference  to  the  girl,  and  leave  the  choice  with  her.  In 
fact  he'd  be  quite  equal  to  running  off  with  her,  if  we 
frightened  her  into  saying  'No'  to  him.  Where  should 
we  be  then  ?  With  Desiree  married  to  a  man  like  Wilson, 
our  source  of  income  would  be  swept  away.  And  he'd 
see  to  it  that  the  necklace  didn't  go  astray.  He  doesn't 
trust  us.  He  had  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  when  he  said 
'safe  keeping.'  No,  no,  it  seems  to  me  our  future  was 
never  darker  than  at  this  moment,  with  both  Desiree  and 
the  necklace  likely  to  fall  into  the  Englishman's  clutches." 

"No  man  in  his  senses  would  marry  her,"  the  Count 
interrupted. 

"Bassino  has  paid  us  fifty  thousand  dollars  and  more 
to  be  allowed  to  do  it,  and  he  knows  nothing  about  the 
heirloom  that  ought  to  go  with  her.  I  don't  mind  betting 
you  one  of  Mrs.  Green's  bracelets  that  we  shan't  get  'The 
Necklace  of  Tears'  in  any  hurry,"  Eugene  concluded. 

"I  was  hoping  we'd  finished  with  all  that,"  his  father 
said,  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

"At  the  present  moment  we've  two  hundred  francs  in 
the  funds.  With  care  it  may  last  us  a  couple  of  days." 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  let  us  run  any  more  risks. 
Sell  the  motor  to  keep  us  going  until  we  get  the  necklace." 

"Not  much.  I  like  to  think  I've  got  that  car,  in  case 
we  have  to  leave  anywhere  in  a  hurry." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

Leisurely  Eugene  drew  a  cigarette  case  from  his  pocket. 

"The  de  Mailly  necklace  is  living  up  to  its  reputation," 


A  PAIR  OF  KNAVES  109 

he  remarked  as  he  lighted  up.  "You  love  it  better  than 
you  love  your  own  son.  You  have  schemed  and  planned 
for  twenty-one  years  to  get  it,  and  in  pursuit  of  it  Fm 
pretty  certain  you've  condemned  Desiree  to  a  life  that 
must  be  hell.  And  now,  knowing  you'd  sell  your  soul 
for  it,  the  necklace  avoids  you.  It's  really  the  devil's  own 
joke,"  he  concluded. 

The  Count  de  Gilbert  said  nothing.     He  sat  staring 
straight  before  him,  a  gray,  pinched  look  on  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  BRACELET 

In  one  of  the  principal  hotels  in  Nice  a  dance  was 
taking  place.  The  ballroom  was  a  large  circular  hall  with 
a  sort  of  cloister  running  round  it.  Just  now,  with  palms 
and  screens  and  curtains,  the  columned  way  was  made  up 
into  numerous  little  secluded  corners.  In  spite  of  the 
size  of  the  hall,  it  was  crowded.  The  whole  place  was 
a  crush  of  fashionably  dressed  and  wealthy  people. 

In  one  of  the  many  recesses  Mrs.  Green  sat  with 
Eugene  de  Gilbert.  He  leaned  back  with  an  arm  half 
round  her  bare  shoulders,  toying  with  one  of  her  hands. 
As  he  talked,  for  all  his  suave  politeness,  a  look  of  sup- 
pressed amusement  lurked  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"Nothing  sets  off  a  pretty  arm  so  much  as  a  pretty 
bracelet,"  he  was  saying,  as  he  played  with  the  one  on 
her  wrist. 

It  was  an  expensive  piece  of  jewelry,  but  vulgar  and 
blatant — a  band  of  diamonds  set  in  gold. 

"It's  not  bad,"  she  remarked,  her  gaze  resting  with 
satisfaction  on  the  ornament.  "It  cost  Mr.  Green  £2,000. 
He  gave  it  to  me  on  our  silver  wedding  day." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you've  been  married  twenty- 
five  years !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  understood  child  marriages 
weren't  tolerated  in  England." 

At  his  compliment  she  giggled. 

"What  pretty  things  you  do  say,  to  be  sure." 

no 


THE  BRACELET  in 

"It's  the  truth,  I  assure  you,"  he  said  earnestly.  "I 
never  dreamt  you  were  a  day  over  thirty.  I  only  hope 
Mr.  Green  appreciates  his  good  luck,"  he  finished  with 
a  despondent  air. 

She  sighed  and  glanced  at  the  handsome  face  beside 
her. 

"He's  too  taken  up  with  his  business  nowadays  to 
worry  himself  much  about  me." 

"To  the  exclusion  of  his  charming  wife!  It  would 
take  more  than  business  to  come  between  me  and  my  wife 
— if  she  were  at  all  like  you." 

As  he  talked  his  hand  rested  on  his  companion's,  and 
with  a  careful  movement  one  of  his  strong  gun-metal 
cuff-links  was  slipped  through  the  safety  chain  of  her 
bracelet. 

"After  they  reach  a  certain  age  men  think  more  of 
money  than  of  women,"  she  said  with  conviction. 

"May  I  die  before  I  reach  that  age!"  he  ejaculated 
passionately. 

"But  you  are  so  different,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him  in 
an  infatuated  manner. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  big  hall  a  band  struck  up. 

"What  a  bore!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  engaged  for  this 
— a  duty  dance.  I've  a  good  mind  to  cut  it  and  stay  with 
you,  Mrs.  Green.  Shall  I?"  he  went  on,  smiling  at  her 
in  an  engaging,  boyish  fashion.  "Say  yes.  Then  if  my 
partner  comes  down  on  me  like  a  ton  of  bricks  I  can  say 
'The  woman  tempted  me.'  " 

She  gave  him  a  coquettish  slap. 

"What  a  caution  you  are,  Mr.  Gilbert.  You  know  I'm 
old  enough  to  be  your  mother,  yet  I  believe  you're  trying 
to  flirt  with  me.  And  you  have  such  a  way  of  making 
a  woman  forget  her  years." 


THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"And  you  have  such  a  way  of  making  a  man  forget 
his  other  partners,"  he  replied.  "But  I  suppose  I'd  better 
go  and  hunt  her  up,"  he  finished,  as  if  reluctant  to  leave 
her. 

Yet  he  got  to  his  feet  quickly. 

There  was  a  sharp  snap  of  something  breaking,  a  little 
cry  on  the  woman's  part,  a  look  of  consternation  on  the 
man's. 

"What  a  clumsy  devil  I  am,"  he  said  apologetically. 
"My  cuff-link  must  have  caught  in  the  safety-chain  of 
your  bracelet.  You  must  let  me  take  it  to-morrow  and 
have  it  mended  for  you." 

"I  shouldn't  dream  of  troubling  you,"  she  answered. 
"It's  really  nothing  at  all." 

"Hadn't  you  better  take  the  bracelet  off.  considering 
the  safety-chain  is  broken?"  he  asked,  all  solicitude. 

"Oh,  no,  the  clasp  is  perfectly  secure.  Now,  you  run 
along  to  your  partner,  and  don't  spoil  your  dance  by 
worrying  over  a  little  thing  like  this,"  she  finished,  sur- 
veying the  broken  chain. 

"Well,  don't  forget  that  eighteen  is  ours.  I  shan't 
know  how  to  wait  until  then." 

She  gave  him  a  little  push. 

"Oh,  get  along  with  you,"  she  said. 

As  he  walked  away  her  faded  eyes  followed  his  hand- 
some figure  wistfully. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  DANCE 

That  evening  Wilson  went  into  the  central  hall  of  his 
hotel  to  watch  the  people.  Although  he  was  fond  of 
dancing,  he  made  no  attempt  to  join  in.  There  were 
plenty  of  girls  present,  some  of  them  pretty,  all  of  them 
well  dressed.  Four  days  ago  any  one  of  them  would 
have  satisfied  him,  but  he  did  not  want  to  dance  with 
them  now.  He  only  wanted  that  pale  wraith  of  a  girl — 
Desiree — to  have  her  for  his  own,  to  dress  her  as  these 
girls  were  dressed,  to  feed  her  up  until  she  had  some 
flesh  on  her  bones,  to  make  her  look  as  a  girl  of  twenty- 
one  should  look — gay  and  happy,  not  as  if  her  life  were 
one  long  tragedy. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  prowled  in  and  out  of  the 
columns  surrounding  the  big  hall. 

Once  he  noticed  the  manager  watching  the  crowded 
room  anxiously,  and  for  a  moment  his  mind  went  to 
"The  Triple  Alliance." 

Then  he  caught  sight  of  a  face  that  made  him  forget 
everything  else. 

Among  the  crowd  of  dancers  he  could  have  sworn  he 
saw  Desiree.  But  it  was  such  a  fleeting  glimpse  that  he 
told  himself  he  must  be  mistaken.  Had  she  been  coming 
to  the  ball  she  would  have  told  him.  She  knew  now  the 
hotel  at  which  he  was  staying. 

When  the  dance  was  over,  brief  as  the  glimpse  had 

"3 


ii4  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

been,  at  the  risk  of  making  a  nuisance  of  himself  he 
prowled  round  the  many  alcoves  and  recesses. 

In  one  of  them  he  saw  her  with  her  uncle — Desiree, 
looking  a  picture  of  fragile,  high-born  loveliness,  in  a 
flounced  white  silk  evening  frock  that,  for  all  its  fashion- 
able cut,  was  probably  the  cheapest  in  the  room. 

The  old  Count  and  his  niece  were  sitting  with  a  clique 
of  titled  people  whom  Wilson  recognized  as  the  best  set 
in  the  hotel. 

On  seeing  him,  the  Count  de  Gilbert  gave  a  casual  nod 
in  his  direction.  But  Desiree  took  no  notice  at  all! 

"The  cut  direct"  was  not  what  Wilson  had  expected. 
He  passed  on,  sorely  wounded.  He  had  not  imagined 
the  girl  to  be  a  snob — that  she  would  ignore  him  because 
she  happened  to  be  with  people  of  her  own  set.  He  put 
it  down  to  her  relatives.  They  had  poisoned  her  mind 
against  him.  Very  much  to  the  fore  in  his  own  mind 
just  then  were  the  two  words  "no  class"  spoken  in  Eugene 
de  Gilbert's  sneering  voice. 

Although  Wilson  did  not  intrude  on  the  aristocratic 
little  coterie,  he  had  no  intention  of  letting  Desiree  go 
without  a  struggle. 

With  his  powerful  hands  clenched  he  passed  on.  She 
had  liked  him  until  her  uncle  and  cousin  came  along. 
She  was  such  a  child,  so  easily  influenced,  so  afraid  of 
her  guardian.  It  was  going  to  be  a  battle  between  him- 
self and  her  highly-placed  relatives — relatives  who  had 
left  her  to  starve,  and  now  were  trying  to  come  between 
her  and  a  well-to-do  man  of  "no  class"  who  loved  her 
and  was  only  too  ready  to  surround  her  with  the  luxuries 
and  comforts  they  were  too  selfish  to  give. 

Thus  Wilson  fumed  to  himself  as  he  passed  on  from 
the  alcove.  However,  he  came  to  a  halt  not  very  far 


THE  DANCE  115 

from  it,  and  took  up  his  stand  where  he  could  watch  the 
party  without  being  seen  himself. 

Presently  the  band  struck  up  again.  The  people  with 
Desiree  drifted  off  in  ones  and  twos,  leaving  her  alone 
with  her  uncle.  Then,  without  a  word,  the  Count  fol- 
lowed in  their  wake. 

The  moment  was  one  Wilson  had  been  waiting  for. 

At  once  he  went  forward. 

Desiree  was  sitting,  as  was  her  habit,  with  her  hands 
lying  listlessly  on  her  knee,  her  eyes  downcast,  as  if  the 
gay  world  beyond  the  recess  were  something  quite  apart 
from  her  life. 

The  thick  carpet  muffled  Wilson's  step,  and  his  ap- 
proach did  not  make  her  raise  her  eyes. 

"Don't  say  you're  going  to  cut  me  a  second  time, 
Countess,"  he  remarked  with  forced  gayety. 

At  his  voice  she  started  visibly. 

"Did  I !"  she  exclaimed  with  dismay.  "I — I  never  saw 
you.  I'm  very  sorry.  You  know  I  wouldn't  do  a  thing 
like  that  intentionally." 

The  reply  satisfied  him  that  the  "cut"  was  accident,  not 
design.  Those  beautiful  blurred  eyes  were  very  short- 
sighted. 

"You  did,"  he  said,  smiling.  "You  looked  straight  at 
me,  and  never  gave  me  a  wink  or  nod." 

At  his  words  she  colored,  but  she  made  no  answer. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  coming  here  to- 
night ?"  he  went  on. 

"I  didn't  know  you  would  be  here." 

"But  you  heard  me  say  I  was  staying  at  this  hotel, 
didn't  you  ?" 

Her  hands  started  to  toy  nervously  with  one  of  the 
flounces  of  her  dress. 


ii6  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"My  uncle  said  we  were  going  to  a  ball,  but  he  never 
told  me  it  was  at  your  hotel." 

"But  didn't  you  see  the  name  when  you  came  in?" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"It — it  was  dark  when  I  came  in,"  she  faltered. 

For  a  third  time  Wilson  noticed  that  his  remarks,  made 
quite  unintentionally,  had  brought  tears  to  her  eyes.  She 
seemed  altogether  too  sensitive  for  this  world,  this  frail, 
neglected  child  whom  he  had  found  and  sheltered  with 
his  coat. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  I'm  not  scolding  you,"  he  said 
gently.  "I'm  only  too  delighted  to  find  you  here." 

In  the  present  instance  he  saw  her  relatives  at  work, 
refusing  to  tell  her  where  she  was  going,  lest  she  might 
promise  a  dance  to  him.  Yet  they  could  bring  her  here, 
and  then  leave  her  to  look  after  herself,  a  girl  who  had 
no  more  knowledge  of  the  world  than  a  baby. 

"Is  your  uncle  in  the  habit  of  leaving  you  all  alone 
like  this  ?"  he  asked,  angry  at  her  guardian's  indifference. 

"I'm  quite  used  to  being  alone." 

"So  you  told  me  once  before,  but  I  don't  take  kindly  to 
your  being  so  neglected.  And  you're  not  going  to  be 
alone  now.  I'm  going  to  stay  and  talk  to  you." 

So  saying,  he  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"Oh,  no,  you  mustn't  stay,"  she  said  quickly.  "My 
uncle  might  not  like  it." 

"So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's  what  you  like,  not  what 
your  uncle  likes,"  he  answered. 

For  all  that  he  stood  up,  his  intention  being  to  leave  her. 

He  had  grasped  the  situation.  They  were  with  friends 
of  their  own  class  who  might  not  tolerate  him  as  Desiree 
did,  and  he  had  no  intention  of  distressing  her  by  staying. 

"Will  you  finish  this  dance  with  me?"  he  asked. 


THE  DANCE  117 

"You'll  bring  me  back  here,  won't  you  ?"  she  questioned 
anxiously. 

He  leaned  over  her,  until  his  face  almost  touched  hers. 

"Are  you  afraid  I  might  run  off  with  you  ?  Would  it 
be  such  a  terrible  thing  if  I  did — Desiree?"  he  finished 
softly. 

A  deep  blush  mounted  to  her  cheeks,  but  she  did  not 
answer  his  question. 

"My  uncle  always  likes  to  know  where  to  find  me.  He 
sometimes  dances  with  me.  He  says  it's  good  for  his 
liver,"  she  said  with  averted  face. 

"I'll  bring  you  back  to  this  very  spot,  so  don't  you 
worry,"  he  answered. 

At  his  promise  she  got  up. 

The  dance  was  one  that  permitted  of  a  close  embrace. 
Wilson  took  advantage  of  this,  prepared  to  relax  his  hold 
if  his  partner  showed  any  sign  of  resentment. 

But  she  did  not.  She  let  him  hold  her,  making  no 
resistance.  Once  she  slipped  on  some  debris  from  a 
bouquet,  a  slip  that  brought  her  stumbling  right  on  to  him 
and  made  his  arm  tighten  round  her. 

"I  should  have  fallen  then  but  for  you,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  laugh. 

"You  don't  suppose  I'd  let  you  come  to  any  harm,  do 
you  ?"  he  asked. 

"You  are  so  strong.    I  always  feel  safe  with  you." 

The  confession  brought  his  face  quite  close  to  hers. 

"You  know  I'll  always  look  after  you.  You  know 
you're  all  right  with  me.  You  know  I'd  do  anything 
for  you — that  I'm  always  at  your  service,  don't  you, 
Desiree?"  he  whispered. 

Again  there  was  no  reply,  only  the  small  hand  he  held 
started  to  quiver.  But  he  held  it  closer,  in  a  firm  and 


ii8  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

possessive  grip,  until  there  was  no  space  left  for  nervous 
trembling. 

There  was  a  little  recess  close  by,  screened  from  the 
crowded  room  by  a  drooping  palm.  Into  that  Wilson 
drew  his  partner.  Then  he  had  both  arms  around  her, 
straining  her  to  his  heart  in  a  passionate  embrace  that 
brought  a  faint  gasp  to  her  lips. 

That  smothered  cry,  with  its  undercurrent  of  fear, 
made  him  relax  his  hold  a  little. 

"You're  not  afraid  of  me,  surely,  my  little  one?"  he 
whispered,  watching  with  passionate  gaze  the  sweet  inno- 
cence that  lay  trembling  but  unresisting  against  his  hard, 
clean  strength. 

"My  uncle " 

"In  England  girls  don't  bother  about  what  their  unclea 
think  and  say;  they  just  please  themselves." 

"But  they  are  not  like  me,"  she  said  sadly. 

It  seemed  to  Wilson  that  she  referred  to  her  position 
and  the  restrictions  it  forced  upon  her,  and  he  agreed 
with  himself  that  the  girls  he  knew  in  no  way  resembled 
the  Countess  de  Mailly.  They  were  not  titled,  they  did 
not  possess  family  trees  that  went  back  beyond  the 
Crusades,  or  diamond  necklaces  worth  tens  of  thousands 
of  pounds  that  they  would  surrender  with  child-like  trust 
into  the  hands  of  complete  strangers. 

"No,  they're  not  like  you,  my  little  Countess,"  he  said 
fondly.  "They're  none  of  them  so  sweet  and  unworldly, 
so  innocent  and  lovely." 

His  arms  tightened  around  her  again  until  she  was 
crushed  against  him,  feeling,  as  he  intended  she  should 
feel,  all  his  strength  and  power. 

"To-morrow  when  I  come,  Desiree,  try  to  think  only 
of  what  you  want.  Don't  bother  about  your  uncle. 


THE  DANCE  119 

Leave  him  to  me.  Don't  you  think  I'm  strong  enough 
to  tackle  him?" 

She  lay  weak  as  a  baby  in  his  grip,  her  heart  beating 
wildly  against  his,  her  lips  slightly  parted,  her  vague  eyes 
half-closed,  a  look  of  hope  and  wonder  on  her  thin,  tragic 
face. 

Tenderly  Wilson  watched  her  as  she  lay,  a  lovely, 
delicate  flower,  upon  his  heart. 

She  was  the  last  of  her  name,  this  fragile  blossom  of 
an  ancient  tree;  he  was  the  first  of  his  name  to  attain 
place  and  power.  With  his  own  efforts,  by  sheer  strength 
and  force  of  character,  he  had  raised  himself  from 
nothing  until  he  was  high  enough  to  grasp  at  the  Countess 
de  Mailly,  and  hold  on  to  her  if  only  she  said  "Yes." 

Much  as  Wilson  wanted  to  lay  his  heart  and  soul  at 
tfie  girl's  feet  he  desisted,  fie  knew  one  of  the  first 
secrets  of  success  is  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right 
moment. 

This  was  not  the  moment  to  propose  to  Desiree.  In 
two  or  three  minutes  at  most,  the  dance  would  be  over 
and  he  would  have  to  take  her  back  to  her  uncle.  It  was 
more  than  possible  that  to  his  proposal  her  upbringing 
and  fear  of  her  guardian  would  make  her  say  "No." 
It  might  take  more  than  the  time  he  had  on  hand  just 
at  present  to  coax  a  frightened  "Yes"  to  her  lips.  In 
either  case  she  would  go  back  to  her  relatives  nervous 
and  agitated.  They  would  be  sharp  enough  to  guess 
what  had  happened,  and  would  see  to  it  that  he  and 
Desiree  did  not  meet  again. 

If  he  left  things  until  the  morning  he  would  have  plenty 
of  time  on  hand  to  coax  her  round  to  his  way  of  thinking. 
With  only  Desiree  to  deal  with  there  would  be  no  great 
difficulty  in  gaining  his  end.  Then  he  would  come  down 


120        .     THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

to  Nice  and  interview  her  relatives — instead  of  delivering 
up  the  necklace,  announcing  the  fact  of  Desiree's  engage- 
ment. Whilst  they  were  swallowing  this  piece  of  news 
he  would  motor  with  all  speed  back  to  the  chateau,  to  be 
with  her  when  they  came  along  to  dispute  the  matter,  to 
stay  with  her  until  they  either  consented  to  the  engage- 
ment, or 

If  her  uncle  made  a  row  and  refused  to  sanction  their 
marriage,  well,  he,  Wilson,  would  use  all  the  power  he 
possessed,  and  persuade  the  girl  to  elope  with  him.  If 
she  were  too  afraid  of  her  guardian  to  do  that,  there  was 
still  another  course  left  open  to  him.  Under  the  pretext 
of  taking  her  for  a  drive  he  would  entice  her  into  his 
motor,  and  then  run  off  with  her.  He  was  not  going  to 
let  her  go  when  it  was  so  evident  that  she  liked  him,  for, 
left  to  themselves,  he  could  easily  turn  that  liking  into 
love. 

Wildly  as  Wilson  loved  Desiree,  he  had  no  delusions 
about  her  feelings  towards  himself.  It  was  a  child's 
affection  she  had  for  him,  not  a  woman's  love.  But  if 
he  were  careful,  on  that  affection  he  could  soon  build 
something  stronger  and  deeper;  and  any  man  worthy  of 
the  name  would  be  careful  with  a  girl  so  high-strung  and 
sensitive.  To  her,  marriage  would  be  purgatory  unless  it 
meant  a  union  of  mind  and  heart  and  soul  as  well  as 
body. 

Desiree's  golden  crown  of  hair  just  reached  his  lips. 
He  kissed  the  soft  coils — a  phantom  caress  she  could  not 
feel. 

There  must  be  nothing  but  the  best  for  her,  this  little 
girl  whom  he  worshipped  and  adored.  He  would  see  to 
it  that  their  marriage  was  no  second-rate  affair. 

So  Wilson's  thoughts  ran  as  he  watched  the  little  face 


THE  DANCE  121 

that  in  his  arms  lost  its  tragic  look,  and  took  on  one  of 
fleeting,  furtive  happiness. 

He  was  in  the  grip  of  one  of  those  sudden  infatuations 
that  seize  men  occasionally;  that,  if  the  object  proves 
worthy,  can  settle  down  to  the  deep,  steady  love  that 
lasts  a  lifetime.  But  now  he  was  blind  to  everything 
except  the  beauty  of  the  girl  in  his  arms,  the  ideal  he 
had  waited  for  so  long,  and  had  been  true  to  since  baby 
days. 

When  the  dance  was  over  he  took  her  back  to  the 
alcove. 

Her  uncle  was  there.  With  latent  anger  he  scanned 
the  couple.  However,  Wilson  had  his  say  first. 

"I  found  the  Countess  all  alone,"  he  said  pointedly, 
"so  I  took  the  liberty  of  looking  after  her." 

"It  was  most  kind  of  you,"  her  uncle  answered  suavely. 
"I  was  called  away  unexpectedly.  I  shall  not  be  leaving 
her  alone  again." 

Wilson  knew  he  was  dismissed,  with  a  hint  not  to 
venture  in  that  direction  again.  He  moved  on  towards 
the  ballroom,  and  he  moved  in  heaven.  There  was  only 
one  person  there  for  him  now — Desiree — Desiree,  who 
had  not  reprimanded  him  when  he  had  dared  to  call  her 
by  name,  Desiree,  who  had  lain,  unresisting,  against  his 
heart,  hope  and  wonder  replacing  the  tragic  note  in  her 
face. 

To-morrow ! 

To-morrow  his  would  be  the  right  to  call  her  Desiree 
for  the  rest  of  her  life,  to  snap  his  fingers  at  her  patroniz- 
ing relatives,  to  keep  "The  Necklace  of  Tears"  for  his 
little  wife  to  wear  when  she  was  dressed  as  he  would  dress 
her. 


122  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Thus  Wilson's  thoughts  ran  as  he  moved  in  his  seventh 
heaven. 

When  Desiree  was  dancing  his  eyes  never  left  her. 
Once  she  was  with  her  uncle,  generally  she  was  with  her 
cousin,  occasionally  with  one  or  the  other  of  the  little 
coterie  whose  sacred  precincts  he  had  been  forbidden 
to  enter. 

As  the  evening  wore  on  he  noticed  her  again  dancing 
with  her  uncle.  In  the  thick  of  the  crowd  they  came 
into  collision  with  her  cousin,  who  was  dancing  with 
Mrs.  Green.  Wilson  wondered  what  on  earth  Eugene 
was  doing  with  his  townswoman,  and  how  the  two  had 
become  acquainted,  for  she  was  even  further  removed 
from  that  aristocratic  set  than  he  himself  was. 

Just  as  they  collided,  he  saw  the  Count  de  Gilbert  let 
go  of  Desiree's  hand.  For  a  moment  his  hand  rested  on 
Mrs.  Green's  plump  wrist.  There  was  a  little  flash  of 
something  bright,  then  the  couples  parted.  The  whole 
thing  was  so  screened  by  Desiree's  figure  that  only  Wil- 
son, with  eyes  for  no  one  but  the  girl,  would  have  noticed 
it.  The  Count's  hand  went  to  his  pocket.  He  drew  out 
a  handkerchief,  blew  his  nose,  and  put  it  back  again,  once 
more  taking  his  partner's  hand. 

It  was  all  over  in  the  space  of  half  a  minute.  Wilson 
was  too  full  of  Desiree  to  put  any  meaning  on  what  he 
had  seen ;  in  fact  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  having  seen 
it 

It  was  one  of  those  things  that  one  sees  and  does  not 
realize  one  has  seen  until  a  combination  of  circumstances 
brings  it  back  to  one's  mind  again. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
DISILLUSION 

Almost  as  soon  as  the  dance  was  over  Desiree  and  her 
uncle  left  the  ballroom.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
girl's  graceful  figure.  What  was  more,  she  was  wearing 
the  pretty,  fringed  white  cloak  that  appeared  to  be  the 
only  outdoor  garment  she  possessed. 

Having  no  further  interest  in  what  was  happening, 
Wilson  made  his  way  to  the  manager's  office  for  the 
smoke  and  gossip  in  which  the  two  frequently  indulged 
of  an  evening. 

He  had  not  been  there  very  long  when  footsteps  ap- 
proached the  room,  and  the  sound  of  voices — a  woman's 
tearful  and  anxious,  a  man's  cultured  and  sympathetic. 

"I  wonder  what  has  happened  now?"  the  manager 
remarked.  He  was  not  long  in  rinding  out.  A  moment 
later  the  door  opened,  admitting  Eugene  de  Gilbert  and 
Mrs.  Green. 

'Some  one  must  have  taken  it  off  my  arm,"  she  was 
insisting.  "Deliberately  stolen  it.  I  know  it  was  there 
when  the  dance  started,  because  I  remember  looking  at  it." 

The  manager  got  to  his  feet  and  put  down  his  cigar. 

"Oh,  Lord,  'The  Triple  Alliance'  again,"  he  said,  sotto 
voce,  to  Wilson. 

Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Green. 

"What  is  it,  madam?    What  has  happened?" 

"My  bracelet !  My  diamond  bracelet !  Mr.  Green  gave 
£2,000  for  it.  It's  gone.  Oh,  won't  he  be  angry,"  she 
finished,  tears  running  down  her  face. 

123 


124  T1HE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Perhaps  the  clasp  came  unfastened,  and  it  has  dropped 
somewhere  in  the  ballroom,"  the  manager  suggested. 

"It  couldn't,"  she  insisted  hysterically.  "It  was  much 
too  firm.  Some  one  has  stolen  it — stolen  it  off  my  very 
arm!" 

"Besides,  we've  looked  everywhere,  under  every  chair 
and  carpet,"  Eugene  put  in. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  so  kind,  so  sympathetic,  so  help- 
ful," she  said,  turning  to  him. 

"It's  abominable  that  a  lady  can't  come  here  without 
having  her  jewels  stolen,"  Eugene  broke  in  angrily. 

Eugene  had  a  great  deal  more  to  say,  but  Wilson  did 
not  hear  it.  He  had  suddenly  stumbled  on  a  truth  that 
left  him  dumbfounded.  Like  a  flash  there  came  before 
him  the  little  episode  in  the  ballroom. 

Mrs.  Green  had  been  Eugene  de  Gilbert's  partner. 
They  were  the  couple  with  whom  Desiree  and  her  uncle 
had  collided.  He  remembered  seeing  the  Count's  hand 
on  the  woman's  wrist,  the  brief  flash  of  light  that  had 
followed,  Desiree's  screening  figure,  then  her  uncle's  hand 
go  to  his  pocket  with  the  pretense  of  drawing  out  a  hand- 
kerchief, but  in  reality  to  put  the  stolen  bracelet  there. 

He  remembered  the  girl  had  told  him  she  had  been  in 
Cannes  about  six  weeks  ago.  Just  when  the  last  robbery 
had  taken  place!  And  in  America,  where  the  nefarious 
trio  had  first  been  heard  of. 

There  could  be  no  mistake.  They  were  "The  Triple 
Alliance" — the  Count  de  Gilbert,  his  son,  and  Desiree! 

She  was  one  of  that  dastardly  trio.  Desiree,  the  girl 
he  loved — all  three  trading  on  their  old  names  and  high 
positions  to  keep  suspicion  from  falling  on  them. 

Wilson  arose  suddenly  and  left  the  office. 

If  the  manager  noticed  his  abrupt  departure,  it  was  to 


DISILLUSION  125 

think  that  his  acquaintance  deemed  the  situation  one  he, 
the  manager,  would  prefer  to  deal  with  alone. 

But  Wilson  wanted  nothing  but  to  get  away  from  his 
own  sort  and  the  terrible  truth  that  had  dawned  upon  him. 

He  was  scrupulously  honest  and  upright.  That  the 
girl  on  whom  he  had  set  his  heart  should  have  proved  a 
thief  was  positive  torture  to  him. 

What  a  hopeless,  infatuated  fool  he  had  been! 

He  had  fallen  madly  in  love  with  a  girl  just  because 
she  was  pretty,  on  a  four  days'  acquaintance,  endowing 
her  with  all  the  virtues. 

Wilson  writhed.  He  did  not  often  make  mistakes. 
That  he  should  have  made  one  now,  in  connection  with 
the  only  woman  he  had  ever  loved,  was  agony  past  all 
bearing. 

In  mockery  Desiree's  innocent,  wistful  face  rose  up  be- 
fore him.  Ghost-like  her  hands  were  on  him,  with  their 
clinging,  helpless  touch.  What  could  be  more  deceptive 
than  her  timid,  hesitant  ways?  No  one  would  suspect  a 
girl  who  was  outwardly  so  child-like  and  unworldly. 

A  fool  there  was,  and  he  made  his  prayer, 

Even  as  you  or  I, 
To  a  rag,  a  bone  and  a  hank  of  hair.  .  ,  . 

Jeeringly  the  words  echoed  through  his  brain. 

He  was  that  fool,  idealizing  a  woman  merely  because 
she  represented  his  idea  of  feminine  beauty,  assigning 
to  her  a  crop  of  virtues  she  did  not  possess,  too  infatuated 
to  see  the  mean  soul  beneath  the  lovely  exterior. 

She  was  a  thief,  this  girl  whom  he  had  worshipped, 
giving  her  a  reverence  he  had  given  to  no  woman  before. 

If  there  was  one  bright  spot  in  his  darkness,  it  was  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  declared  himself,  that  he  had  not  lafd 
his  heart  and  soul  at  the  feet  of  that  aristocratic  thief. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  QUARREL 

Early  the  next  morning  the  sound  of  an  approaching 
motor  roused  Desiree  as  she  sat  at  breakfast  on  the 
terrace,  a  breakfast  that  consisted  of  a  cup  of  black  coffee 
and  a  slice  of  a  stale  loaf. 

She  was  expecting  a  visitor  that  morning,  but  not  quite 
so  early,  for  it  was  not  much  more  than  half-past  eight. 
The  sound  brought  a  look  of  trembling  resolve  to  her 
face.  Her  friend  had  been  so  nice  the  night  before,  so 
kind  and  gentle  and  strong,  that  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  confess  everything.  She  would  also  tell  him 
about  Mr.  Bassino,  and  ask  him  to  try  to  save  her  from 
being  compelled  to  marry  a  man  she  loathed. 

After  a  sleepless  night  Wilson  had  risen  early,  and 
had  driven  over  to  what  once  had  been  his  paradise,  and 
was  now  a  desert.  He  hardly  knew  why  he  had  come. 
On  retiring  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  England 
the  next  day,  but  a  force  stronger  than  his  own  will 
created  a  desire  to  see  the  girl  once  again  before  he  put 
her  out  of  his  life  forever.  And  all  the  time  he  despised 
himself  because  she  had  such  a  hold  on  him. 

His  step  on  the  terrace  made  Desiree  get  up  with  a 
little  smile  of  welcome. 

Wilson  looked  at  her,  wondering  how  a  girl  could 
appear  so  helpless  and  innocent,  and  yet  be  one  of  a  trio 
of  expert  thieves. 

126 


THE  QUARREL  127 

There  was  no  response  to  her  words  of  greeting;  no 
strong,  careful  grip  on  her  hand ;  no  firm,  kind  voice  that 
was  a  caress  in  itself. 

As  the  passing  moments  brought  only  silence,  her  smile 
died  away,  and  a  look  of  dismay  crept  over  her  face. 

''What  is  it,  <mon  ami?"  she  faltered  presently. 

*'Oh,  my  God!"  he  burst  out  hoarsely.  "You  needn't 
trouble  yourself  any  longer  to  act  a  part  for  my  benefit. 
I've  found  out  things  for  myself." 

At  his  words  she  seemed  to  shrink,  and  with  a  little 
heartbroken  cry  her  hands  went  to  her  face. 

"You  know,"  she  moaned.     "And  now — you  hate  me." 

4'Did  you  imagine  I  could  still  love  you,  once  I  found 
out  what  you  really  were?" 

There  was  no  reply,  but  her  hands  remained  before 
her  face,  as  if  to  hide  it  from  his  view. 

When  Wilson  was  angry  his  words  were  few,  but 
always  to  the  point.  They  could  hit  and  cut  with  a  force 
and  depth  greater  than  any  torrent  of  rage.  And  he  was 
angry  now — the  cold,  hard,  merciless  anger  of  the  man 
who  has  been  deceived  in  the  woman  he  loves. 

"No  wonder  the  world  has  no  use  for  an  aristocracy, 
if  you  and  your  beautiful  relatives  represent  it,"  he  said 
with  biting  scorn.  "No  wonder  France  tried  to  make  a 
clean  sweep  of  hers." 

Desiree's  hands  came  from  her  face,  and  on  it  now 
were  surprise,  bewilderment,  and  a  touch  of  hauteur. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  she  said  with 
trembling  voice. 

That  she  should  stand  there  looking  at  him  with  such 
an  air  of  injured  innocence  angered  Wilson  still  further. 
That  innocent,  helpless  way  of  hers  had  fooled  even  him. 

"A  set  of  thieves  and  rogues,  that's  what  you  and  your 


128  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

uncle  and  cousin  are,  taking  advantage  of  your  position 
to  victimize  foolish  women." 

Desiree's  drooping  figure  suddenly  stiffened  with  dig- 
nity. 

"Will  you  please  explain  exactly  what  you  mean?" 
she  asked  quietly. 

There  was  no  anger  in  her  voice,  but  its  tone  made 
Wilson  feel  as  far  below  her  socially  as  her  set  at  the 
ball  had  intended  him  to  feel. 

That  she  could  do  this  added  to  his  rage,  for  he  de- 
spised her  utterly,  and  he  despised  himself  too,  because 
to  him  she  was  still  Desiree — the  one  woman  he  desired. 

"Don't  pretend  you  don't  know.  I've  found  you  out. 
And  I  know  now  that  you  and  your  uncle  and  cousin  are 
The  Triple  Alliance,'  that  dastardly  set  of  jewel  thieves. 
I  saw  your  cousin  dancing  with  Mrs.  Green.  I  saw  you 
and  your  uncle  collide  with  them,  a  collision  your  cousin 
helped  to  bring  about.  I  saw  your  uncle  take  the  bracelet 
from  her  wrist,  and  you  shielding  him — seeing  it  done  and 
saying  nothing,  helping  them  in  their  vile  thieving." 

As  he  talked,  an  incredulous  expression  passed  over 
the  girl's  face.  She  put  out  a  hand  to  stop  him.  Slowly 
she  backed,  as  if  to  try  to  escape  from  what  he  was 
saying,  as  though  his  words  were  raining  on  her  like 
blows.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  speaking  all  color 
had  faded  from  her  face.  She  looked  frozen  by  the  facts 
he  had  put  before  her. 

"How  can  I  do  any  of  the  dreadful  things  you  say?" 
she  gasped,  in  a  voice  that  had  lost  all  its  soft  music. 
"How  can  I  know  what  goes  on  around  me  when — I  am 
blind!" 

As  she  said  the  last  three  words  she  turned  quickly, 
and  ran  towards  the  house ;  in  her  haste  to  escape,  crash- 


THE  QUARREL  129 

ing  her  forehead  against  the  portal  of  the  door.  With  a 
little  cry  of  pain  she  flew  on,  leaving  Wilson  staring  after 
her,  aghast. 

At  that  moment  his  world  was  as  dark  as  Desiree's. 

Those  three  final  words  of  hers  left  him  rooted  to  the 
spot. 

He  had  heaped  abuse  and  insults  on  a  girl  who  had  m 
idea  of  what  went  on  around  her;  who  was  the  uncon- 
scious tool  of  two  scoundrels. 

"I  am  blind." 

Why  had  he  not  guessed  it?  How  could  he  have  been 
so  stupid  ?  Why  had  it  not  occurred  to  him  that,  although 
she  said  "I  hear,"  or  "feel,"  or  "smell,"  never  by  any 
chance  did  she  say  "I  see";  that  he  had  never  seen  her 
reading,  or  writing,  or  sewing ;  only  knitting  ?  To  anyone 
in  his  senses  her  phenomenal  ignorance,  her  unworldli- 
ness,  her  babyish  looks  and  old-fashioned  ways,  would 
have  given  the  key  to  the  tragedy  that  brooded  over  her 
life. 

Wilson  knew  he  had  not  been  in  his  senses  where 
Desiree  was  concerned. 

He  had  been  blind  too — blindly  infatuated,  too  blind 
to  realize  that  her  helplessness  was  something  more  than 
normal. 

Common  sense,  an  attribute  that  had  passed  from  him 
since  his  discovery  of  the  previous  evening,  came  back 
with  a  sudden  rush. 

Would  she  have  told  him  she  had  been  in  America 
and  Cannes  had  she  had  any  idea  of  what  had  been 
happening  in  those  places?  Would  she  have  entrusted 
The  Necklace  of  Tears'  into  his  keeping? 

My  God!    What  had  he  done? 

Wilson's  hand  went  across  his  anguished  eyes. 


130  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

He  had  hurt  and  insulted  a  helpless,  neglected,  sightless 
child  who  had  been  left  to  the  mercy  of  a  couple  of 
scoundrels. 

"I'm  quite  used  to  being  alone  in  the  dark." 

Those  words  of  hers,  spoken  in  a  soft,  sad  voice,  rose 
up  and  confronted  him. 

He  groaned. 

She  was  alone  in  the  dark  now,  somewhere  in  the  old 
chateau — alone  with  his  cruel  words,  the  little  girl  he 
loved. 

For  her  harrowing  confession  had  not  swept  away  his 
love.  It  had  made  it  all  the  deeper. 

In  his  ears  rang  that  agonized  little  voice.  Before  his 
eyes  were  the  small,  thin  hands  hiding  her  stricken  face 
from  his  view. 

"You  know,  and  now  you  hate  me." 

Hate  her  because  she  was  blind?  Then  she  did  not 
know  the  sort  of  man  with  whom  she  was  dealing. 

The  crashing  blow  she  had  struck  herself  in  her  wild 
desire  to  escape  from  him  and  his  insults  filled  his  black 
world  with  sickening  echoes. 

He  was  responsible  for  that  too — he,  in  his  thoughtless 
anger,  a  fool  who  could  not  put  two  and  two  together. 

The  cup  of  black  coffee  and  slice  of  dry  bread  met  his 
gaze,  mocking  him  with  their  tale  of  patient,  brave  endur- 
ance, telling  him  anew  of  the  depths  of  his  own  stupidity 
and  the  girl's  innocence. 

She  had  no  share  in  the  ill-gotten  gains,  except,  per- 
haps, now  and  again  the  one  frock  she  must  have  in  which 
to  play  her  part. 

Quickly  he  turned  into  the  house,  his  only  desire  to 
find  the  girl,  to  take  her  into  his  arms  and  whisper  words 
of  love  and  comfort. 


THE  QUARREL  131 

He  went  into  the  dining-room,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
her  there.  He  passed  out  again  into  the  hall,  and  opened 
all  the  doors  that  led  into  it,  looking  into  empty,  crumbling 
chambers  with  broken  windows,  falling  ceilings,  and 
damp,  peeling  walls,  but  Desiree  was  not  in  any  one  of 
them. 

He  went  upstairs,  into  room  after  room,  still  looking 
for  the  girl  "alone  in  the  dark." 

Finally  he  reached  a  door  that  was  locked,  and  from 
the  other  side  came  the  sound  of  hopeless,  heart-broken 
sobbing — Desiree  weeping  because  of  the  insults  and  the 
hideous  accusations  he  had  so  suddenly  poured  upon  her. 

He  knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer. 

"Desiree,  you  must  let  me  in,"  he  called,  in  a  voice  that 
was  hoarse  with  agony. 

But  he  had  no  answer,  except  that  the  sobs  grew  more 
choked  and  stifled. 

Those  tears  from  blind  eyes — tears  of  his  making — 
fell  like  liquid  fire  upon  his  heart. 

"You  must  let  me  in,"  he  called  again.  "I  must  see 
you.  I'd  no  idea  you  didn't  know — that  you  couldn't 
see  what  went  on  around  you." 

Still  there  was  no  response. 

Beside  himself,  Wilson  put  his  shoulder  to  the  door, 
to  try  to  burst  it  open,  in  his  mind  nothing  but  a  desire 
to  reach  the  girl  and  kiss  away  her  tears. 

But  the  door  was  of  thick  oak  and  iron.  It  resisted 
the  force  he  brought  against  it,  and  the  only  result  of 
hie  efforts  was  a  severely  bruised  shoulder. 

Then  Wilson  came  to  his  senses. 

He  could  not  force  his  way  into  a  girl's  bedroom. 

Close   by   \vas   a    wide   window-seat,    in   one   of   the 


132  T<HE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

stained-glass  windows  of  the  corridor.  On  that  he 
seated  himself,  waiting  until  Desiree  should  appear. 

Time  passed,  but  the  door  did  not  open. 

Somewhere  in  the  silent  chateau  an  old  clock  whirred 
and  buzzed  and  then  struck  nine,  filling  the  place  with 
its  echoes. 

It  struck  half-past  nine,  and  then  ten,  and  still  the 
door  showed  no  signs  of  opening.  But  the  sobs  had  died 
away.  Behind  the  thick  door  all  was  silent — the  silence 
of  intense  suffering. 

Again  Wilson  went  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

"Desiree,  you  must  let  me  see  you.  I  insist.  Only 
for  a  moment.  I  must  explain  things  to  you,"  he  called 
frantically. 

If  possible  the  silence  was  greater  than  ever. 

With  a  gesture  of  pain  and  despair  he  turned  away. 

He  would  go  back  to  Nice  and  have  it  out  with  those 
two  scoundrels.  They  were  coming  for  the  necklace  at 
eleven  o'clock. 

When  he  had  settled  with  them  he  would  come  back 
to  Desiree. 


CHAPTER  XX 
MISUNDERSTOOD 

Desiree's  dark  world  was  whirling  round  her  when  she 
turned  and  fled  from  Wilson — a  world  that  held  nothing 
but  his  voice  as  she  had  never  heard  it  before — harsh, 
cold,  and  angry,  saying  things  she  could  not  believe. 
Then  into  the  whirl  had  come  a  sudden  crash  of  pain. 

Although  it  brought  a  cry  to  her  lips,  it  also  brought 
a  little  order  into  the  chaos,  and  it  made  her  realize  what 
she  really  wanted — to  escape  from  the  one  friend  of  her 
own  choosing,  from  the  man  who  had  come  into  her 
darkness,  bringing  with  him  a  sense  of  perfect  trust  and 
security. 

Desiree  felt  her  affliction  deeply.  She  had  never  seen 
the  daylight.  The  world  to  her  was  a  thick  gray  fog, 
in  which  dark  shadows  moved  vaguely.  A  sense  of  hav- 
ing been  robbed  of  her  heritage  of  sight  was  always  with 
her,  and  a  feeling  that  God  had  never  intended  that  she 
should  go  about  and  not  see  the  things  of  His  creating. 

All  her  life  she  had  felt  an  outcast,  an  object  of  scorn 
and  pity  among  her  fellows.  The  fact  of  her  blindness 
filled  her  with  morbid  shame,  as  if  it  were  some  crime 
she  herself  had  committed.  Anil  her  uncle  and  cousin 
had  always  impressed  on  her  that  she  was  cursed  because 
of  the  necklace. 

She  knew  she  had  deceived  Wilson.  On  their  first 
meeting  he  had  not  guessed.  Afterwards  she  had  been 
afraid  to  tell  him,  lest  he  should  turn  from  her.  When 

133 


134  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

he  was  with  her,  her  whole  energies  were  concentrated 
on  keeping  the  fact  of  her  blindness  from  him,  and  she 
had  managed  to  circumvent  her  lack  of  sight  so  deftly 
that  anyone  with  her  in  her  own  home  and  only  for  a 
short  time  might  not  have  guessed  her  affliction. 

But  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  confess.  She  had 
confessed.  But  not  in  the  way  she  had  intended.  The 
confession  had  been  wrung  from  her  in  agony,  by  the 
incredible  facts  so  unexpectedly  put  before  her. 

She  never  thought  of  Wilson  as  a  lover.  To  her  a  lover 
was  a  person  like  Bassino,  who  had  come  into  her  dark- 
ness, breathing  on  her  heavily  with  foul  breath,  puffing 
cigar  smoke  into  her  face,  touching  her  with  hot  and 
greedy  hands. 

Wilson  was  put  into  the  same  category  as  Juliette  and 
Pierre,  both  people  she  loved  and  trusted — someone  who 
was  always  kind  and  gentle,  who  looked  after  her,  and 
touched  her  with  careful  hands;  yet  who  had  brought 
such  a  feeling  of  strength  and  power  with  him  that  the 
wild  hope  had  grown  up  within  her  that  he  might  prove 
a  savior  powerful  enough  to  set  aside  her  uncle's  decree, 
and  save  her  from  Mr.  Bassino. 

At  that  moment,  far  worse  than  her  affliction,  worse 
even  than  the  prospect  of  her  marriage,  was  her  one 
friend's  anger.  She  could  not  believe  what  he  said  about 
her  uncle  and  cousin,  yet,  because  he  said  it,  she  felt  it 
must  be  true. 

The  appalling  facts  which  Wilson  had  stated,  and  a 
desire  to  escape  from  him,  were  the  two  things  that  filled 
her  mind  as  she  crossed  the  big  hall  and  went  up  the  wide 
staircase  to  her  bedroom,  with  the  unerring  instinct  that 
came  of  a  lifetime  spent  in  finding  her  way  about  the  old 
chateau  and  its  grounds. 


MISUNDERSTOOD  135 

On  reaching  her  room  she  locked  the  heavy  door.  Then 
she  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  remained  there  sobbing 
in  a  heart-broken  fashion. 

So  little  had  come  into  her  dark,  untaught  life  that  she 
never  forgot  any  incident  connected  with  the  few  things 
that  had  come  into  it. 

Juliette  had  always  disliked  her  uncle  and  cousin. 
Although  she,  herself,  had  tried  to  think  she  liked  them, 
in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  had  always  known  she  did  not. 
In  the  days  of  her  childhood  they  were  nearly  as  poor  as 
she  was.  Then  they  used  to  come  and  stay  for  months  on 
end  at  the  chateau,  forever  grumbling  at  the  meager  fare 
the  place  provided. 

At  the  first  rumor  of  war  Eugene  and  her  uncle  had 
gone  to  America.  When  she  was  eighteen  her  uncle  had 
come  for  her. 

She  went  over  the  two  miserable  years  she  had  spent 
in  America. 

There  were  times  when  they  seemed  to  have  quite  a  lot 
of  money ;  times  when  she  was  left  alone  in  cheap  lodging- 
houses  at  the  mercy  of  landladies,  and  her  uncle  and 
Eugene  lived  at  expensive  hotels.  Occasionally  they  took 
her  to  parties.  Every  now  and  again  she  had  a  new  silk 
evening  frock,  quite  different  from  the  dresses  Juliette 
had  always  made  for  her. 

Vividly  there  came  back  to  her  the  very  words  Eugene 
had  once  said  after  one  of  the  parties. 

"It's  a  damned  good  thing  that  Cissy  is  dead.  Now 
it's  a  case  of  half,  not  a  third,  and  I  don't  have  to  be 
forever  propitiating  her." 

Perhaps  about  once  every  two  months  she  was  taken 
to  a  party.  Invariably  during  the  evening,  when  she  was 
dancing  with  her  uncle,  there  would  be  a  collision,  and 


136  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Eugene's  voice  apologizing,  her  uncle  letting  go  her  hand, 
and  a  moment  later  his  voice  would  say: 

"Desiree,  I  need  my  handkerchief." 

He  would  blow  his  nose,  then  the  dance  went  on,  but 
immediately  it  was  over  she  and  her  uncle  left. 

Sometimes,  when  the  three  of  them  were  alone  to- 
gether, Eugene  would  make  jokes  about  bracelets,  laugh- 
ing in  his  cruel,  taunting  way  when  her  uncle  reprimanded 
him. 

"Oh,  Desiree  doesn't  understand,"  he  would  say. 

What  was  it  she  did  not  understand? 

That  she  was  the  dupe  and  tool  of  two  highly-placed 
jewel  thieves,  who  had  taken  her  as  their  third  when  their 
woman  confederate  had  died. 

She  understood  now,  and  the  realization  was  purgatory. 

She  had  been  so  proud  of  her  old  name.  There  was 
so  little  else  she  had  had  of  which  to  be  proud. 

Into  Desiree's  chaotic  world  came  the  sound  of  some 
one  knocking  at  her  door,  and  her  friend's  voice  calling 
her. 

She  buried  her  face  deeper  in  the  pillows  and  tried  to 
stifle  her  sobs. 

She  would  rather  have  been  tortured  to  death  than 
have  gone  and  faced  him  with  her  sightless  eyes  and 
disgraced  name. 

But  the  fact  that  he  had  followed  her  told  her  she  must 
escape  still  further,  where  he  could  not  possibly  reach  her. 

Worn  out  with  weeping,  she  lay  on  the  bed  listening, 
some  sense  within  her  telling  her  he  was  still  outside,  the 
friend  she  dared  not  face. 

There  was  another  knock  and  call,  but  she  did  not 
answer.  She  only  wanted  him  to  go  away  at  once,  and 
never  come  into  her  disgraced  life  again. 


MISUNDERSTOOD  137 

Presently  she  heard  his  step  along  the  corridor.  A  few 
moments  later  there  was  the  sound  of  a  motor  going 
down  the  drive. 

Once  certain  he  was  gone,  Desiree  got  up.  With 
trembling  fingers  she  unlocked  the  heavy  door  and  made 
her  way  downstairs  to  the  kitchen. 

At  her  entry  Juliette  threw  up  her  hands. 

"Mon  Dieu!  What  has  happened?"  she  cried,  as  she 
surveyed  the  girl's  tear-stained  face,  her  bruised  forehead, 
and  tumbled  hair. 

Desiree  did  not  wait  to  explain  matters. 

"I  must  go  away  from  here  at  once — where  nobody 
can  find  me." 

"What  is  it?   What  has  that  Englishman  been  saying?" 

However,  Desiree  avoided  the  question. 

"I  want  to  go  away,"  she  said  with  insistence. 

"Where  can  you  go,  Comtesse?  We  have  no  money 
for  whims  nowadays." 

"Let  me  go  to  your  daughter,  Marie,  at  Eze.  Nobody 
will  look  for  me  there.  Oh,  Juliette,  don't  make  me  stay 
here,"  she  finished,  the  helpless  tears  starting  to  fall  again. 

"Come,  come,  ma  petite,  there  must  be  no  crying,"  the 
old  woman  said  fondly.  "Of  course  you  shall  go  to 
Marie  if  you  want  to.  I'll  borrow  Mere  Toinet's  mule 
cart  and  we'll  start  at  once." 

As  Juliette  made  her  way  towards  a  neighboring  farm 
she  decided  there  had  been  some  quarrel  between  the 
English  monsieur  and  "them"  over  the  Countess  Desiree. 
It  would  be  just  as  well  to  get  the  girl  out  of  the  way  until 
her  rich  fiance  arrived.  Then  she  would  tell  him  where 
the  Comtesse  was,  and  leave  him  to  deal  with  the  situation. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  INTERVIEW 

On  reaching  his  hotel  Wilson  went  into  the  large  hall. 
He  chose  a  quiet  corner,  out  of  earshot  of  the  rest  of  the 
room,  and  there  awaited  his  visitors. 

The  Gilberts  were  not  late.  The  last  stroke  of  eleven 
had  barely  died  away  when  they  appeared. 

Leisurely  they  made  their  way  in  his  direction,  greeting 
an  acquaintance  here  and  there. 

At  their  entry  Wilson  arose.  He  stood  with  his  back 
half  turned  towards  them,  his  right  hand  deep  in  his 
pocket,  while  with  the  other  he  carelessly  turned  over 
some  newspapers  on  the  table  at  his  side.  He  did  not 
appear  to  notice  the  couple  until  they  paused  beside  him, 
nor  did  he  respond  to  their  greeting,  or  take  either  of 
the  hands  held  towards  him. 

"We've  come  to  relieve  you  of  the  responsibility  of  the 
necklace,"  the  old  Count  said  affably. 

"I  don't  intend  to  give  it  up  just  yet,"  Wilson  replied. 

The  Gilberts  glanced  at  one  another. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  mum  peref"  Eugene  said  in  an 
undertone.  "We're  not  out  of  the  woods  yet." 

"You  must  return  the  necklace  at  once,"  the  Count  said 
haughtily,  his  voice  dry  with  anxiety".  "It's  my  niece's 
property." 

"So  I  understand,"  Wilson  answered.  "That's  why  I 
don't  intend  to  let  you  have  it." 

138 


THE  INTERVIEW  139 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  contempt  and  animosity 
in  his  voice. 

Elbowing  his  father  aside,  Eugene  stepped  forward. 

"So  you're  going  to  try  to  stick  to  the  necklace  you 
inveigled  out  of  my  cousin  in  her  guardian's  absence?" 
he  remarked  in  a  threatening  manner. 

"No,  I  don't  know  that  that's  my  idea  exactly,"  Wilson 
answered  slowly,  "but  I've  no  intention  of  giving  it  to  a 
couple  of  rogues  like  you  and  your  father." 

"Rogues!"  the  older  man  spluttered.    "Rogues!" 

"Thieves,  then,  if  you  think  that  word  describes  you 
better." 

The  Count's  face  blanched. 

"Considering  the  hue  and  cry  after  Mrs.  Green's  brace- 
let disappeared,"  Wilson  went  on,  "I'm  surprised  you 
dare  show  your  faces  here  to-day.  I  saw  you  take  her 
bracelet,  and  I  saw  how  the  whole  thing  was  engineered, 
too.  I  saw  you  use  a  blind  girl  for  your  dupe  and  shield 
— a  helpless  child  who  had  no  idea  what  she  was  doing 
You  couple  of  scoundrels!" 

There  was  a  brief,  tense  pause. 

The  old  Count  glanced  round  quickly,  his  whole  figure 
shaking.  But  Eugene  laughed,  as  if  with  intense  amuse- 
ment. 

"My  good  man,  you  must  be  drunk,"  he  drawled. 
"Lots  of  you  English  do  start  drinking  whisky  before 
breakfast." 

It  had  come — the  "my  good  man"  that  Wilson  had 
been  expecting  since  meeting  the  Gilberts.  Once  he  had 
imagined  it  would  cut  him  to  the  quick,  coming  from  the 
lips  of  a  relative  of  the  girl  he  loved.  Now  it  seemed  to 
him  he  would  rather  be  a  "good  man"  than  like  either  of 
the  polished  knaves  confronting  him. 


140  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"At  any  rate  I'm  sober  enough  not  to  give  the  Countess 
de  Mailly's  necklace  to  either  of  you." 

"If  we  are  responsible  for  the  disappearance  of  Mrs. 
Green's  bracelet,  as  you  seem  to  insinuate,"  Eugene  went 
on  with  an  unperturbed  air,  "why  didn't  you  say  so  last 
night  ?  You  were  in  the  manager's  office  when  I  brought 
her  there  to  make  the  complaint." 

"I'd  no  intention  of  dragging  your  cousin's  name  into 
the  affair,"  Wilson  answered. 

This  was  not  quite  true.  At  the  actual  time  he  had 
been  too  dumbfounded  at  what  he  had  imagined  to  be 
Desiree's  unveiling  to  be  able  to  say  a  word.  Now  noth- 
ing would  have  induced  him  to  mention  the  affair  to  an 
outsider.  Her  name  was  almost  as  sacred  to  him  as 
herself,  and  he  intended  to  defend  it,  even  if  it  meant 
the  Gilberts  going  scot  free. 

Eugene  saw  an  excellent  reason  for  Wilson's  silence, 
one  he  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of. 

"Come;  we've  had  enough  of  this  nonsense,  Wilson," 
he  said  in  a  sharp,  superior  tone.  "To  use  an  English 
expression,  you'll  understand  'it  won't  wash.'  You're 
trying  to  find  an  excuse  for  keeping  the  necklace,  and  you 
think  you  have  one  in  accusing  us  of  taking  Mrs.  Green's 
bracelet.  In  fact,  blackmail  would  be  about  the  right 
name  for  your  proceedings." 

"Call  it  what  you  like,"  Wilson  replied  evenly.  "But, 
whatever  you  call  it,  I  intend  to  keep  the  necklace." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

Both  the  Gilberts  saw  they  were  safe  in  the  shelter  of 
a  girl's  skirts,  and  they  meant  to  make  the  most  of  their 
refuge. 

"You  damned  scoundrel,"  the  Count  burst  out,  "taking 


THE  INTERVIEW  141 

advantage  of  a  blind  child's  trust  to  rob  her  of  her 
heritage." 

Wilson's  right  hand  came  from  his  pocket  in  a  clenched, 
ominous  manner,  and  he  took  a  step  in  their  direction, 
his  chin  thrust  slightly  forward,  in  the  way  he  had  done 
in  past  days  when  his  school-fellows  had  twitted  him 
about  the  "sun  and  moon." 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "if  you  start  calling  me  names 
I  shall  get  angry.  And  when  I  get  angry  I  make  a  row. 
Then  the  whole  place  will  hear  what  we're  talking  about." 

He  was  maligning  himself.  When  he  was  angry  he  was 
quiet.  He  had  been  quiet  with  the  two  confederates — so 
quiet  that  they  were  beginning  to  think  it  was  safe  to 
bully  him,  in  spite  of  his  knowledge  of  their  doings. 

However,  the  threat  kept  further  abuse  from  their 
lips. 

There  was  another  and  further  pause,  which  Eugene 
broke. 

"If  you  don't  let  me  have  my  cousin's  necklace  at  once 
I  shall  inform  the  police." 

"All  right,"  Wilson  said  coolly. 

It  was  now  a  game  of  bluff.  Wilson  knew  he  had  no 
right  to  the  necklace,  except  the  right  of  the  strong  to 
defend  the  weak.  And  Eugene  de  Gilbert  had  every  right 
to  call  in  the  police,  since  he,  Wilson,  had  refused  to  give 
up  Desiree's  belongings.  Wilson  also  knew  that  if  the 
police  came  he  would  have  to  give  a  reason  for  having 
kept  the  necklace,  and  he  could  not  do  that  without 
Desiree  being  branded  as  one  of  "The  Triple  Alliance." 

But  he  knew,  too,  that  the  Gilberts  would  not  be  any 
too  anxious  for  police  interference. 

Another  pause  ensued. 

This  time  Wilson  broke  the  silence. 


142  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"I  think  we  understand  each  other  fairly  well,"  he  said. 
"I'm  not  going  to  let  you  rob  the  Countess  de  Mailly  as 
yon  have  robbed  dozens  of  other  people.  I'm  keeping 
the  necklace,  since  both  it  and  she  need  better  guardians 
than  you  two  beauties." 

With  this  Wilson  walked  away,  leaving  the  Gilberts 
staring  after  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
SCHEMES 

In  unenviable  frames  of  mind,  the  Count  de  Gilbert 
and  Eugene  went  back  to  their  hotel.  A  thoughtful 
silence  enveloped  them  until  they  reached  their  own 
quarters.  They  were  not  staying  at  a  palatial  place  like 
Wilson's ;  at  the  moment  the  funds  did  not  permit  of  it. 
They  had  a  chambre  meublee  in  a  third-rate  hotel,  and 
for  lunch  and  dinner  they  patronized  more  fashionable 
resorts. 

Once  within  the  shelter  of  their  own  room  the  Count 
let  himself  go.  The  beds  were  still  unmade ;  a  debris  of 
coffee,  rolls,  and  cigarette  ends  lay  upon  a  small  table. 
Surveying  the  chaos,  he  paced  up  and  down,  swearing 
profusely. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  raved.  "I  thought  we'd  done  with  this 
life  once  and  forever.  These  ups  and  downs,  this  con- 
stant anxiety — I  tell  you  my  nerve  is  going.  I  can't  stand 
much  more.  There's  an  end  to  everybody's  luck.  And 
now  this  damned  Englishman  has  found  us  out." 

"I've  often  told  you,  mon  ptre,  that  curses  never  do 
any  good,"  Eugene  responded  equably.  "It's  far  better 
to  smile  in  the  teeth  of  Fate." 

"Smile?  Yes,  that's  all  you  can  do,"  his  father  snapped. 
"Smile,  and  leave  me  to  pull  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire 
for  you." 

"Mon  cher,  if  our  years  were  reversed  I'd  have  to  do 

143 


144  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

the  pulling  and  you  the  enchanting.  You're  past  an  age 
that  attracts  elderly  women.  They  prefer  men  young 
enough  to  be  their  sons.  So  I  have  to  do  the  'fatal  fasci- 
nation' act,  much  as  I  prefer  the  jeunes  filles.  Generally 
speaking,  young  girls  haven't  jewelry  worthy  of  our  atten- 
tion. When  a  woman  loses  her  youth  she  tries  to  blind 
men's  eyes  to  the  fact  by  the  glitter  of  her  diamonds." 

So  saying,  Eugene  picked  a  cigarette  out  of  a  box  that 
lay  open  on  the  table.  Then  he  threw  himself  down  in 
a  deep  chair.  It  creaked  ominously  as  he  leaned  back,  so 
he  got  up  and  pushed  it  close  against  the  wall  for  support. 

"It  has  a  weak  back,"  he  remarked.  "I  must  deal  with 
it  tenderly." 

His  indifferent  attitude  roused  his  father  still  further. 

"You  and  your  accursed  jokes!"  he  snarled.  "And  a 
fortune  in  that  damned  Englishman's  keeping.  Will  you 
never  take  things  seriously?" 

"What's  the  use  of  being  alive  if  one  has  to  be  serious 
about  it?  I'm  a  butterfly.  I  neither  toil  nor  spin.  Or 
perhaps  I'm  a  lily  of  the  field — whichever  it  is.  In  any 
case  I'm  something  that  never  has  and  never  intends  to 
work  for  a  living.  I'm  not  an  honest  plodder  like  our 
friend  Wilson." 

"Curse  him,"  the  Count  muttered.  "We're  entirely 
in  his  hands." 

"Wilson  won't  give  us  away,"  Eugene  responded  easily, 
as  he  lighted  his  cigarette.  "He's  much  too  infatuated 
with  Desiree  for  that.  I  wronged  him  in  the  first  act 
It's  the  girl  he  wants,  not  the  necklace.  And  through  her, 
if  we're  sharp,  we  may  still  get  it." 

The  older  man  stopped  his  nervous  pacing. 

"Explain  yourself,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"We  must  remove  Desiree  from  within  his  reach,  and 


SCHEMES  145 

then  bargain  with  him.  Tell  him  he  can  have  whichever 
he  likes,  either  the  necklace  or  the  girl.  And  tell  him  he'll 
have  to  make  up  his  mind  pretty  quickly  too,  or  we'll 
marry  her  to  Bassino.  He'll  be  here  any  day  now.  He 
won't  waste  time,  that  Dago,  where  Desiree  is  concerned." 

In  front  of  his  son  the  old  Count  did  a  dance,  begotten 
of  excitement  and  relief. 

"The  very  thing,  Eugene !"  he  cried.    "The  very  thing !" 

"We  must  get  Desiree  away  at  once,"  his  son  continued, 
"before  Wilson  gets  hold  of  her.  I  tell  you  he's  not  the 
sort  that  lets  grass  grow  under  his  feet." 

"Leisurely  Eugene  got  up  and  went  towards  the  door. 

"In  ten  minutes,  won  pere,  I  shall  be  round  with  the 
car,"  he  finished. 

During  the  drive  from  Nice  to  the  old  chateau  neither 
father  nor  son  saw  much  of  the  beauty  of  their  surround- 
ings. They  were  too  intent  on  arranging  where  they 
would  take  Desiree. 

"Some  little  village  in  the  mountains,"  was  Eugene's 
suggestion.  "And  you  must  stay  with  her.  It  won't  be 
a  gay  life  for  you,  but  you  must  keep  your  mind  fixed 
on  the  necklace.  I'll  stay  in  Nice  and  do  the  bargaining 
with  Wilson.  Once  he's  seen  Bassino  I  don't  think  he'll 
be  long  in  making  up  his  mind — not  if  he's  the  man  I 
take  him  for." 

On  reaching  the  old  chateau  they  found  it  empty. 
Although  the  front  door  stood  open,  no  amount  of 
shouting  produced  either  Desiree  or  Juliette,  nor  was 
there  any  sign  of  the  dog. 

At  the  moment  the  fact  did  not  alarm  them.  Juliette 
was  frequently  at  the  neighboring  farms  selling  produce, 
and  Desiree  and  her  four-footed  guardian  might  be  out 
for  a  walk,  or  somewhere  in  the  tangled  garden. 


I46  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

• 

They  went  into  the  garden,  but  neither  shouts  nor 
searching  brought  any  sign  of  the  girl. 

Their  commotion  brought  old  Pierre  lumbering  up 
from  one  of  the  terraces  beyond  the  wall,  where  he  was 
digging. 

"Where's  your  mistress  ?"  Eugene  demanded  when  the 
old  man  appeared. 

"Isn't  mademoiselle  in  the  house,  monsieur?" 

"No ;  neither  she  nor  Juliette.  And  they're  not  in  the 
grounds  either." 

"Then  they  must  have  gone  out,"  Pierre  said. 

"You  old  fool,  of  course  they've  gone  out.  Isn't  that 
what  we're  telling  you  ?"  the  Count  broke  in.  "What  we 
want  to  know  is,  where  have  they  gone?" 

"How  do  I  know  ?"  the  old  servant  mumbled.  "They 
don't  tell  me  where  they're  going  every  time  they  go  out. 
In  any  case  they'll  be  back  soon.  It's  the  hour  for 
dtjeuner" 

With  this  the  Gilberts  had  to  be  content. 

They  retraced  their  steps  to  the  terrace  and  seated 
themselves  there,  momentarily  expecting  Desiree. 

Presently,  in  the  house,  the  old  clock  struck  one,  re- 
minding them  that  the  hour  for  dejeuner  was  well  past, 
and  that  they  themselves  had  not  lunched,  a  fact  that 
Desiree's  unlooked-for  absence  had  taken  from  them. 

Life  had  made  the  Count  de  Gilbert  and  his  son  quite 
capable  of  waiting  on  themselves  when  necessary.  They 
raided  the  chateau's  meager  larder,  lunching  on  boiled 
eggs,  sardines,  dry  bread,  fruit,  and  a  bottle  of  old  wine 
from  the  cellars. 

Afterwards  they  sat  smoking,  awaiting  the  truant's 
return. 


SCHEMES  147 

The  clock  struck  two  and  then  three ;  still  there  was  no 
sign  of  Desiree,  nor  of  Juliette,  nor  of  the  dog. 

As  time  passed,  a  gray  look  crept  over  the  Count's  face, 
and  Eugene  grew  thoughtful. 

It  appeared  that  Wilson  had  forestalled  them  and  gone 
off  with  their  hostage.  And  "The  Necklace  of  Tears" 
seemed  as  far  away  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
WILSON'S  REMORSE 

After  his  interview  with  the  Gilberts,  Wilson's  one 
desire  was  to  get  back  to  Desiree  there  and  then.  How- 
ever, he  deemed  it  wiser  to  postpone  his  visit  until  the 
afternoon,  and  give  the  girl  time  to  recover. 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  before  his  motor  drew  up 
under  the  terrace  of  the  chateau. 

He  saw  Juliette  making  her  way  towards  the  back 
premises.  At  once  he  was  out  of  the  car  and  following 
her. 

"La  Comtesse  de  Mailly  ?"  he  asked. 

Usually  this  brief  interrogation  sent  Juliette's  skinny 
brown  finger  pointing  in  whichever  direction  Desiree 
happened  to  be.  On  this  occasion  her  hands  remained 
at  her  side,  and  she  shook  her  head. 

But  Wilson  was  not  so  easily  turned  from  his  purpose. 

"Ou  est  mademoiselle?"  he  asked  slowly,  in  his  best 
French. 

"Mademoiselle  la  Comtesse  est  partie"  Juliette  an- 
swered promptly. 

The  news  of  her  departure  was  a  shock  to  Wilson. 
In  French  he  managed  to  ask  where  she  had  gone,  but 
the  old  woman  either  could  not  or  would  not  understand 
him. 

Frantic  at  the  thought  of  Desiree  "alone  in  the  dark," 
he  made  his  way  into  the  chateau.  For  a  second  time 
that  day  he  looked  into  its  moldering  rooms,  his  foot- 

148 


WILSON'S  REMORSE  149 

steps  echoing  in  the  forlorn  old  ruin  as  if  he  were  walking 
in  the  tomb  of  his  dead  hopes. 

On  going  upstairs,  he  found  the  door  which  had  been 
locked  in  the  morning  now  standing  slightly  ajar. 

With  a  feeling  of  treading  on  sacred  ground,  Wilson 

entered. 

He  surveyed  the  poor  room,  with  its  bare  tiled  floor, 
damp,  stained  ceiling,  and  lack  of  all  comfort,  and  thought 
of  his  own  luxurious  chamber.  There  was  a  little  hollow 
in  the  narrow  iron  bed,  with  its  patched  and  darned  quilt, 
where  Desiree  had  lain  when  she  wept  her  heart  out,  and 
he  was  nearer  tears  at  that  moment  than  ever  he  had  been 
in  his  adult  life,  for  he  knew  he  was  responsible  for  hers. 

Then  he  looked  for  some  clue  to  the  fugitive's  where- 
abouts. 

There  was  no  wardrobe  in  the  room,  only  a  piece  of 
well-washed  and  faded  cretonne  hanging  across  one 
corner.  Behind  that  he  peeped. 

Wilson  knew  every  one  of  the  few  clothes  in  which 
he  had  seen  Desiree.  There  was  no  sign  of  the  blue 
muslin  dress,  or  the  white  one  with  the  narrow  piping 
of  red,  or  the  pretty,  white,  fringed  cloak,  or  the  little  hat 
with  the  cherries,  that  in  some  marvelous  manner  had 
been  ironed  out  and  retrimmed  so  that  it  looked  none  the 
worse  for  its  drenching.  There  was  only  the  white  silk 
dress  she  had  worn  at  the  ball. 

He  looked  into  the  drawers  of  a  lopsided  chest  that 
stood  against  one  of  the  walls.  They  had  been  rummaged 
into  hurriedly,  and  apparently  one  or  two  garments  from 
each  of  the  little  piles  of  pretty  underclothes  had  been 
taken. 

With  careful  fingers  Wilson  touched  them.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it ;  she  had  flown  from  him — his  fairy 


150  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

princess — away  from  him  and  his  cruel  words,  for  his 
investigations  showed  she  intended  to  stay  away  some 
time,  and  was  not  returning  that  evening,  as  he  had  been 
trying  to  make  himself  believe. 

If  he  wanted  further  proof  of  the  girl's  innocence,  he 
had  it  now.  She  had  gone,  leaving  him  in  possession  of 
"The  Necklace  of  Tears."  But  he  did  not  want  any 
further  proof ;  he  only  wanted  Desiree. 

Common  sense  told  him  she  could  not  have  gone  far. 
She  had  next  to  no  money,  no  motor-car,  and  there  were 
practically  no  trains  running.  She  could  not  get  farther 
than  horse  or  mule  could  take  her;  surely  only  a  few 
miles  away. 

Wilson  turned  to  the  window  and  studied  the  view 
thoughtfully. 

Up  from  the  tangled  garden  came  the  faint  murmur 
of  insects;  a  soft  scented  breeze  wafted  in  at  the  open 
lattice;  every  now  and  again  a  goat  bell  tinkled.  The 
peace  of  it  all  mocked  him. 

He  was  responsible  for  her  flight ;  he,  in  his  stupidity ; 
a  clumsy  fool  who,  in  his  anger,  would  not  believe  in  the 
innocence  which  stamped  that  little  face,  but  must  go  and 
pour  vile  accusations  on  a  sensitive,  high-strung  girl. 

Whatever  he  did,  whatever  sacrifice  he  made,  he  could 
never  make  up  to  her  for  his  fatal  error. 

With  tortured  eyes  he  studied  the  landscape.  It  seemed 
to  him  the  folded  hills  and  valleys  were  endless.  In  any 
one  of  them  Desiree  might  be  hidden,  in  any  one  of  the 
tiny  farms  in  the  secluded  valleys,  in  any  one  of  the  little 
homesteads  dotted  on  the  hills.  It  might  take  weeks  to 
find  her. 

In  spite  of  the  pain  he  was  feeling,  Wilson  did  not 
waste  time  in  useless  lamentations. 


WILSON'S  REMORSE  151 

He  had  but  one  idea  now — to  find  Desiree. 

His  lack  of  French  would  make  the  feat  almost  im- 
possible for  him  alone.  He  would  go  back  to  Nice  at 
once  and  engage  an  interpreter.  Then  he  would  start  a 
systematic  search. 

He  was  on  his  way  back  to  Nice  before  it  occurred  to 
him  that  Desiree  might  be  farther  away  than  he  imagined. 
Her  uncle  and  cousin  might  have  carried  her  off  in  their 
big  racing  car,  in  order  to  use  her  as  a  means  of  getting 
hold  of  the  necklace.  They  were  quite  equal  to  it,  and 
quite  sharp  enough  to  guess  the  reason  of  his  silence. 

This  idea  added  to  his  depression.  Desiree  left  to 
herself  would  be  much  easier  to  get  hold  of  than  Desiree 
in  the  hands  of  the  Gilberts. 

To  Wilson's  surprise,  on  arriving  at  his  hotel  he  found 
the  father  and  son  awaiting  him  in  the  hall,  and  about 
them  both  was  an  air  of  righteous  indignation. 

Before  he  had  time  to  speak  they  had  accosted  him. 

"I  can  put  up  with  you  stealing  my  niece's  necklace," 
the  old  Count  spluttered  angrily,  "but  I  refuse  to  let  you 
abduct  my  niece  as  well." 

"Abduct  your  niece !"  Wilson  repeated,  for  the  moment 
nonplussed. 

"Yes,  abduct  my  niece.  The  Countess  is  not  in  her 
home.  What  have  you  done  with  her?" 

"Oh,  so  that's  it,  is  it  ?"  Wilson  said  with  a  relieved  air. 
nAs  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  the  same 
question." 

His  words  left  the  two  staring  at  each  other. 

Then  suddenly  it  dawned  on  all  three  of  them  that 
Desiree  herself  was  responsible  for  her  flight,  and  that, 
as  far  as  the  girl  was  concerned,  the  game  was  still  even. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
MANUEL  BASSINO  ARRIVES 

Three  days  after  Desiree's  flight  the  chateau  had 
another  visitor.  He  came  in  style,  in  a  most  expensive 
%nd  showy  motor-car,  -with  a  chauffeur  and  footman. 
He  wore  a  sable  coat.  There  were  diamonds  in  his  tie 
and  on  his  fingers,  and  he  smoked  a  long  cigar.  With  an 
air  of  having  bought  the  place  and  all  in  it,  he  walked 
up  to  the  front  door  and  knocked  in  a  loud  and  aggressive 
manner. 

When  Juliette  appeared  he  said  in  English,  with  a 
strong  American  accent: 

"I  want  to  see  the  Countess  de  Mailly." 

Not  understanding  what  he  said,  Juliette  shook  her 
head;  then  he  shouted  the  sentence  at  her.  And  as  she 
still  failed  to  comprehend,  he  yelled  again  still  louder. 
Finally  it  dawned  on  him  that  she  did  not  know  what  he 
was  talking  about,  and  since  he  knew  no  French  he  hailed 
the  chauffeur  to  come  and  act  as  an  interpreter. 

The  old  woman  gathered  that  the  gross,  aggressive  man 
before  her  was  the  Countess  de  Mailly 's  fiance.  Until 
now  she  had  been  delighted  at  the  thought  of  the  rich  parti 
who  had  fallen  to  her  mistress's  lot.  At  this  moment  she 
understood  the  girl's  dread  and  hatred  of  him. 

And  Juliette's  thoughts  ran  thus:  When  she  was  a 
young  girl,  she  would  not  have  liked  to  have  had  to  marry 
this  monsieur  from  South  America,  no  matter  how  rich 
he  might  be.  And  she  was  only  a  peasant,  not  a  high- 
born lady  like  the  Comtesse  Desiree. 

152 


MANUEL  BASSINO  ARRIVES  153 

The  English  monsieur  was  infinitely  preferable,  al- 
though he  had  no  sable  coat,  no  shiny  top  hat,  no  big 
cigar,  no  diamonds,  no  chauffeur,  no  footman,  only  a 
very  plain  and  serviceable  car  that  he  drove  himself,  and 
was  only  a  plain,  ordinary  sort  of  man  of  whom  it  was 
impossible  to  say  whether  he  had  money  or  not.  If  he 
were  rich  he  did  not  have  the  fact  branded  on  himself 
and  all  his  belongings  like  this  Monsieur  Bassino. 

Juliette  was  determined  not  to  tell  him  the  Comtesse's 
whereabouts.  Things  could  be  left  to  work  out  their  own 
salvation.  She  was  not  going  to  interfere  in  any  way. 

Having  made  up  her  mind  to  this,  the  old  servant 
disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  the  girl's  whereabouts. 

"But  she  lives  here,  doesn't  she?"  Bassino  asked 
through  his  interpreter. 

She  had  lived  there  until  three  days  ago,  when  she  had 
gone  away  and  no  one  knew  where  she  had  gone,  he 
learned. 

In  front  of  Juliette  Bassino  raged  and  swore.  But  she 
watched  him  indifferently,  persisting  to  the  chauffeur 
that  the  Countess  de  Mailly  had  gone  away  and  no  one 
knew  where  she  had  gone. 

"Ask  the  old  hag  if  she  knows  where  the  Count  de 
Gilbert  is?"  Bassino  asked  at  length. 

Oh,  yes,  she  could  tell  him  that.  And  she  gave  the 
address  of  an  obscure  hotel  in  Nice. 

There,  in  a  towering  rage  and  in  all  his  glory,  Bassino 
went. 

On  reaching  the  hotel  he  heard  that  both  the  Count  and 
his  son  were  out.  What  was  more,  they  were  not  likely 
to  be  back  until  eight  or  nine  that  evening,  and  nobody 
knew  where  they  were  at  the  moment. 

There  was  nothing  Bassino  could  do  but  wait.    He 


154  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

retired  to  his  hotel,  the  best  in  Nice,  where  he  had  a 
whole  suite  of  apartments.  In  an  elaborate  sitting-room, 
where  he  had  hoped  to  bring  Desiree  as  his  wife  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,  he  sat  gnawing  his  thumb  and 
brooding  over  her  unexpected  disappearance. 

At  eight  o'clock,  in  no  very  enviable  frame  of  mind, 
he  went  round  to  interview  the  Count  de  Gilbert.  He 
had  paid  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  his  "little  thorough- 
bred," not  counting  the  oddments  those  two  blood-suckers 
had  had  out  of  him,  and  now  the  goods  were  not  there 
according  to  contract. 

In  a  towering  rage  he  entered  the  Gilberts'  shabby 
quarters. 

They  greeted  him  and  his  temper  with  the  air  of  mer 
too  obsessed  with  their  own  affairs  to  give  a  thought  to 
the  outside  world. 

"Where's  Desiree  ?"  he  demanded  angrily,  the  moment 
he  got  into  the  room. 

Eugene  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Ask  me  another,"  he  said. 

"I've  given  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  her,  and  don't 
you  forget  it,"  the  Brazilian  blustered. 

"And  I'd  give  another  fifty  thousand  to  have  her  in 
my  hands  at  this  moment,"  the  Count  informed  him. 

"Where's  she  gone?"  Bassino  bawled. 

"Hang  it,  man,  we're  not  deaf,"  Eugene  said  with 
unusual  irritability. 

"What  has  happened  to  my  fiance?" 

"That's  exactly  what  we  want  to  know." 

The  evening  of  Desiree's  disappearance  the  Gilberts 
had  returned  to  the  chateau  to  find  Juliette  back  at  her 
post  again.  On  questioning  her  as  to  the  girl's  where- 
abouts, she  had  said  she  had  no  idea  where  her  mistress 


MANUEL  BASSINO  ARRIVES  155 

was.  She  had  explained  her  absence  on  their  last  visit 
by  saying  she  had  missed  the  Comtesse,  and  had  spent 
the  morning  and  afternoon  searching  for  her.  Then  her 
lips  closed  over  her  toothless  gums  in  a  thin,  hard,  deter- 
mined line,  in  a  manner  that  indicated  that,  whatever  any- 
one might  say,  they  would  get  nothing  more  out  of  her. 

The  father  and  son  had  not  wasted  time  over  Juliette. 
Never  having  interested  themselves  in  the  old  woman's 
affairs,  they  did  not  even  know  she  had  a  daughter,  let 
alone  one  at  Eze. 

At  once  they  had  set  about  a  systematic  search  for 
Desiree,  and  that  evening  again  had  returned  to  Nice 
disappointed. 

"You've  gone  back  on  me,  you  couple  of  sharpers.' 
You've  sold  Desiree  to  someone  else,"  Bassino  cried, 
beside  himself  with  fear  and  rage  and  balked  passion. 

"No,  we  haven't,"  Eugene  answered.  "She  went  away 
of  her  own  accord." 

"Went  away !    What  do  you  mean  by  letting  her  go  ?" 

"We  didn't  let  her  go.  She  ran  away.  We've  spent 
the  last  three  days  in  hunting  for  her,"  the  Count  ex- 
plained. 

"What  made  her  run  away?"  the  Brazilian  asked  in  a 
calmer  tone. 

Eugene's  eyes  rested  superciliously  on  the  gross  figure 
before  him. 

"I  suspect  the  idea  of  you,  and  the  fact  that  she  has 
fallen  in  love  with  some  Englishman.  You're  a  bitter 
pill  for  any  well-bred  girl  to  swallow,  even  though  you're 
so  well  gilded,"  he  finished,  with  no  respect  for  the. 
millionaire's  feelings. 

Bassino  did  not  hear  the  insult  to  himself.  He  only 
saw  Desiree  lost  to  him. 


156  TiHE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Eloped?    Married?"  he  shrieked. 

"No.  This  Englishman  is  looking  for  her  as  well, 
damn  him!  And  if  he  finds  her  it's  all  up  with  you. 
He's  as  mad  for  her  as  you  are." 

Bassino  turned  towards  the  elder  Gilbert. 

"You're  her  guardian.  You  can  make  her  marry  me," 
he  said,  anxiety  and  pain  in  his  thick  voice. 

With  only  Desiree  to  deal  with  the  Count  knew  he 
could  make  her  do  anything  he  wanted.  But  if  she 
happened  to  have  reached  the  shelter  of  Wilson's  broad 
back  before  they  discovered  her  whereabouts,  that  would 
be  quite  another  matter. 

"I  could,  if  I  can  find  her,"  he  answered. 

"Of  course  you  can  find  her,"  Bassino  answered  briskly, 
suddenly  buoyed  up  by  the  thought  of  the  power  of 
money.  "I'll  find  her,  if  it  costs  me  another  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars.  Who  is  this  Englishman  she's  got  a  fancy 
for?  I'll  travel  double  quick  and  let  him  know  he's  got 
to  let  my  property  alone." 

However,  the  Gilberts  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of 
Wilson's  name  and  address.  If  the  Englishman  and 
Bassino  had  words  over  Desiree,  there  was  a  chance  that 
the  fact  of  "The  Triple  Alliance"  might  slip  out,  and  the 
risk  was  one  they  were  not  going  to  run. 

"I  don't  know  who  he  is.  I  only  know  there  is  such 
a  person,"  the  Count  answered.  "And  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  join  forces  with  us,  and  help  us  to 
search  for  Desiree." 

By  this  method  the  Count  de  Gilbert  saw  unlimited 
means  at  his  disposal.  But  once  the  girl  was  found, 
Wilson,  not  Bassino,  should  have  her,  provided  he  handed 
over  "The  Necklace  of  Tears." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DESIREE'S  NEW  HOME 

Each  day,  from  eight  in  the  morning  until  it  was  dark, 
Wilson  scoured  the  country  round  Nice  trying  to  find 
some  clew  to  Desiree's  whereabouts.  Often  he  would 
leave  his  car  at  a  tiny  wayside  farm,  and  with  his  inter- 
preter tramp  along  rough  mountain  tracks  and  plunge 
into  deep,  secluded  valleys,  visiting  lonely  homesteads  set 
far  away  from  the  world. 

Most  of  the  little  farms  had  heard  of  the  young 
chatelaine.  She  was  very  beautiful,  but  blind,  "la  pauvre 
tnignonne."  Occasionally  one  met  her  walking  on  the 
roads  with  her  wolf  dog.  She  lived  at  the  Domaine  de 
Mailly,  two,  four,  or  ten  kilometers  away,  as  the  case 
might  be.  All  her  life  she  had  lived  there  with  a  couple 
of  old  servants,  except  when  she  was  in  America  with 
her  uncle. 

At  first  when  the  peasants  started  this  rigamarole 
Wilson's  hopes  would  rise. 

But  she  had  left  her  home,  he  would  explain  through 
his  interpreter.  Did  they  know  where  she  had  gone? 

Then  they  would  shrug  their  shoulders. 

;How  could  they  know  where  she  had  gone?  Who 
could  account  for  the  sudden  whims  and  caprices  of  the 
aristocracy  ? 

And  this  was  all  Wilson  had  gathered  by  lunch-time 
on  the  fifth  day. 

157 


158  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Sometimes,  as  he  walked  along  the  stony  tracks,  he 
would  close  his  eyes  for  a  moment  to  see  what  the  world 
was  like  to  Desiree.  A  world  of  night,  of  ghastly  loneli- 
ness, which  he  knew  he  had  made  even  blacker. 

Once  he  met  the  Gilberts,  undoubtedly  on  the  same 
errand  as  himself.  The  two  search-parties  vouchsafed 
one  another  no  acknowledgment  beyond  scowls. 

One  day  after  lunch,  as  he  wandered  down  one  of  the 
cobbled  streets  of  a  remote  village,  a  dusty  postcard  in 
a  tiny  shop  caught  his  attention.  It  was  a  picture  of  a 
walled  village,  standing  high  above  the  sea  on  a  great 
jutting  spur  of  mountain — a  view  of  Eze. 

As  Wilson  looked  at  it,  there  flashed  into  his  mind  a 
remark  of  Desiree's,  made  on  the  occasion  when  he  had 
taken  her  for  a  motor  drive  to  Monte  Carlo:  "Juliette 
has  a  married  daughter  living  there." 

He  stared  at  the  postcard,  brooding  on  that  day.  No 
wonder  Desiree  had  refused  his  invitation  to  lunch.  No 
wonder  she  had  insisted  on  Juliette  coming  with  her.  No 
wonder  she  would  not  go  into  the  hotel  with  him  and 
have  tea.  But  the  greatest  wonder  of  all  was  how  he 
could  have  been  such  a  fool  as  not  to  have  guessed  her 
infirmity. 

Wilson  made  his  way  quickly  back  to  the  little  cafe 
where  he  had  lunched,  still  marveling  on  how  the  girl 
had  managed  to  deceive  him.  But  he  had  attributed  her 
one  or  two  little  blunders  to  short-sightedness  and  ex- 
cessive nervousness. 

He  disturbed  the  interpreter  in  the  midst  of  a  comfort- 
able smoke  and  flirtation  with  the  cafe  waitress,  and  be- 
fore many  minutes  had  passed  they  were  driving  as  fast 
as  they  could  go  in  the  direction  of  Eze. 

An  hour  later  the  place  came  into  view. 


DESIREE'S  NEW  HOME  159 

For  the  sake  of  quickness  they  had  come  by  the  road 
that  skirted  the  sea.  Then  they  turned  and  crawled  up- 
wards, pursuing  a  narrow,  twisted  way,  up  and  up,  until 
the  sea  lay  far  below  and  the  gray  mountains  rose  like 
a  wall  ahead  of  them,  halting  when  the  motor  could  get 
no  further  and  the  village  towered  above  them  like  an 
old  fort,  grim  and  gray  against  the  blue  sky,  with  its 
ruined  castle  high  above  everything. 

Leaving  the  car,  they  went  up  a  steep  track  leading 
towards  the  one  gate  in  the  crumbling  stone  wall  that  gave 
access  to  the  place,  and  on  through  a  dark,  tunnel-like 
entrance. 

At  certain  hours  of  the  day,  when  the  children  are  at 
school,  and  the  adults  are  working  in  the  fields  and  vine- 
yards on  the  adjacent  mountains,  one  can  walk  from  end 
to  end  of  Eze  without  meeting  a  person. 

It  seemed  to  Wilson  that  he  had  alighted  upon  a  de- 
serted village. 

They  passed  out  of  the  arch  into  a  weed-grown  square. 
Ahead  were  twisted,  tortuous  streets,  none  of  them 
much  more  than  a  yard  wide,  that  went  up  and  down 
according  to  the  incline  of  the  rock.  In  several  places 
the  houses  met  across  the  passage-like  streets,  looking 
as  if  they  would  have  fallen  if  they  had  not  had  a  neigh- 
bor to  lean  on. 

Up  one  of  the  shadowed,  narrow  ways  they  started. 
There  did  not  appear  to  be  a  soul  in  the  place.  All  the 
little  windows  were  shuttered,  all  the  doors  closed.  They 
went  up  one  passage  and  down  another.  Fowls  and  goats 
wandered  at  will  about  the  place,  scratching  and  browsing 
among  the  weeds  that  grew  between  the  cobbled  ways — 
ways  that  had  a  narrow  streak  of  red  bricks  running  up 
the  middle  of  them  to  mark  them  as  public  thoroughfares. 


160  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Occasionally  the  encircling  wall  was  reached.  In  parts 
the  rock  went  sheer  down,  with  here  and  there  a  fig,  an 
aloe,  or  a  clump  of  prickly  pears  growing  in  the  crevices 
of  its  sides.  Once  or  twice  they  knocked  at  doors,  hoping 
to  get  some  information  from  the  inmates.  But  their 
knocks  met  with  no  response. 

In  a  stable  scooped  out  of  the  very  rock  a  donkey 
brayed,  filling  the  silent  village  with  its  hideous  voice. 

Wilson  passed  on,  deciding  he  would  now  start  a  sys- 
tematic hunt,  and  knock  at  every  door  until  he  found 
someone  at  home. 

He  was  about  to  put  this  scheme  into  force  when  he 
saw  a  form  slinking  up  one  of  the  dark  alleys — a  form 
he  thought  he  knew. 

"Wolf !    Wolf !"  he  called  quickly. 

One  wolf-dog  is  very  like  another.  But,  for  all  that, 
Wilson  was  not  mistaken.  At  his  voice  the  animal 
stopped,  looked  round,  wagged  its  tail,  and  then  trotted  on 
again. 

He  knew  his  search  for  Desiree  was  ended,  for  her 
four-footed  guardian  never  strayed  far  from  her. 

Telling  his  interpreter  to  go  back  to  the  car,  Wilson 
followed  quickly  after  the  animal. 

Presently,  by  one  of  the  low  wooden  doors  let  into  the 
deep  walls,  the  dog  paused  and  scratched  and  whined.  A 
moment  later  the  door  opened,  and  it  was  lost  to  sight. 

Wilson  was  some  distance  down  the  narrow  street, 
but  near  enough  to  note  the  door. 

He  went  forward  quickly  and  knocked. 

"Entrez,"  a  voice  said. 

It  was  a  soft,  sad  little  voice  that  he  would  have  known 
anywhere,  no  matter  what  language  it  spoke. 

He  opened  the  door.    A  low  room  met  his  gaze,  entered 


DESIREE'S  NEW  HOME  161 

by  an  arched  way ;  a  room  with  a  stone  floor,  whitewashed 
stone  walls,  and  heavy  beams  across  the  ceiling,  support- 
ing the  rough  planks  of  some  crude  chamber  above.  It 
had  one  little  low  window  overlooking  a  precipice,  and  far 
below  was  the  azure  sea  where  white-sailed  ships  cast 
violet  shadows. 

By  one  of  the  walls  stood  an  old  oak  chest,  with  a 
heavy  wooden  chair  on  either  side  of  it.  On  a  wide  chim- 
ney-piece high  above  an  open  fireplace,  where  an  iron 
cooking-pot  hung,  were  a  few  specimens  of  coarse 
crockery.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  a  small,  bare, 
black  table.  A  wide  wooden  bench  with  a  cushion  or 
two  filled  the  space  by  the  window. 

There  Desiree  was  sitting,  the  dog  already  at  her  feet ; 
and  she  seemed  to  be  the  only  person  in  the  tiny  house. 

The  opening  door  made  her  turn  her  head  in  that  direc- 
tion. A  small,  tortured  face  met  Wilson's  view,  with 
deep,  dark  rings  under  the  sightless  eyes  and  a  black 
bruise  on  the  white  forehead. 

Her  look  of  suffering  cut  him  to  the  quick.  He  just 
stood  on  the  doorstep  gazing  at  her,  feeling  as  tortured 
as  she  looked. 

"What  is  it  ?  Who  is  there  ?"  she  asked  in  French,  as 
the  moments  passed  and  nothing  was  said. 

Into  the  darkness  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  a  dull 
yellow  patch  had  come,  and  in  the  patch  a  dark,  vague 
shadow  stood,  and  that  was  all  the  girl  could  see.  She 
imagined  the  visitor  to  be  someone  with  a  message  or 
parcel  for  Marie;  some  neighbor,  since  the  dog  had  not 
given  the  menacing  bark  that  always  portended  a 
stranger. 

"Desiree,"  he  said  hoarsely. 


162  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

At  his  voice  a  little  cry  broke  from  her  lips,  and  her 
hands  went  to  her  face  to  hide  it  from  his  view. 

"Oh,  no!    Oh,  no!    Go  away,"  she  moaned. 

Wilson  had  no  intention  of  going  away.  Gosing  the 
door,  at  the  risk  of  a  scene,  he  went  forward. 

"No,  my  little  one,  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you  alone  in 
the  dark,"  he  said  gently. 

With  his  heart  full  of  love  and  sympathy,  he  leaned 
over  her  to  take  her  hands  from  her  stricken  face.  She 
tried  to  push  him  away,  and  when  this  had  no  effect  she 
hid  her  face  in  the  cushions  of  the  bench  and  burst  into 
tears. 

It  took  more  than  tears  to  turn  Wilson  from  his  pur- 
pose. 

Seating  himself  beside  her,  he  lifted  her  from  her  hid- 
ing-place. He  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  kept  a 
strong  arm  around  her. 

"If  any  crying  has  to  be  done,"  he  said  firmly,  "it's 
going  to  be  done  here." 

For  a  moment  she  struggled  against  his  decree.  Then, 
finding  there  was  no  escape,  she  hid  her  face  against 
his  rough  tweed  coat,  and  the  sobs  went  on. 

Wilson  had  had  no  idea  a  girl  could  cry  so  much.  And 
each  one  of  the  great  sobs  seemed  as  if  it  would  tear  her 
to  pieces. 

He  patted  her  back  and  smoothed  her  hair,  and  when 
her  handkerchief  was  wet  through  he  gave  her  his  own. 

He  did  not  kiss  her  or  speak  of  love.  The  sort  of  love 
he  wanted  to  talk  about  she  was  in  no  condition  to  listen 
to.  It  was  a  mother  she  needed,  and  he  tried  to  fill  the 
role  as  well  as  he  was  able. 

In  some  degree  he  must  have  succeeded.  Presently  the 
sobs  died  down  to  long,  convulsive  gasps  and  shivers. 


DESIREE'S  NEW  HOME  163 

Then,  with  a  careful  finger,  Wilson  touched  the  wet 
cheek  that  was  nearest  to  him. 

"Well,  have  you  finished  for  the  time  being  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  disgraced,"  a  choked  voice  said,  still  full  of  tears. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  Nobody  knows  but  me.  And 
I'm  not  going  to  say  a  word." 

"I — I've  been  so  proud  of  my  name.    And  now !" 

"Nobody  in  their  senses  would  ever  blame  you." 

After  this  there  was  a  long  silence.  On  a  broad,  hard 
shoulder  Desiree  sniffed  and  choked,  and  with  a  large 
handkerchief  mopped  a  small  face  Wilson  had  not  been 
allowed  to  see  since  the  tears  started. 

He  had  come  back  into  her  life  again,  this  one  friend 
of  her  own  choosing,  with  his  kind,  quiet  ways  and  big, 
careful  hands,  this  time  bringing  with  him  comfort  as 
well  as  a  feeling  of  perfect  security.  The  world  never 
seemed  quite  so  dark  when  he  was  there. 

"I  deceived  you,"  she  whispered  presently,  in  a  shamed 
voice. 

"How  did  you  manage  that  ?" 

"I — I  never  told  you  I  couldn't  see.  I  was  so  ashamed. 
I — I  always  feel  such  a  pariah." 

"Never  mind,  I  know  now,"  he  said  gently. 

With  a  caressing  gesture  his  hand  rested  on  her  head. 
He  was  wishing  she  had  told  him  at  the  first.  Then  it 
would  have  saved  him  a  ghastly  blunder,  and  both  of 
them  the  last  few  days  of  mental  torture. 

Again  there  was  silence  between  them. 

Desiree  did  not  resist  being  held,  too  utterly  worn  out 
to  move,  hardly  aware  of  anything,  in  fact,  except  that 
strength  and  comfort  and  sympathy  had  come  into  her 
life  again. 


164  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"You  won't  make  me  go  back  and  have  to  be  with — 
them?"  she  asked  presently. 

At  the  appeal  Wilson's  arm  tightened  round  her.  She 
was  so  utterly  helpless,  so  absolutely  at  the  mercy  of 
anyone  who  came  into  her  dark  life. 

"Make  you?"  he  said  passionately.  "My  God,  no! 
I'm  going  to  take  charge  of  you  now,"  he  went  on  more 
steadily.  "You  can  come  back  with  me  to  my  hotel.  And 
to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  when  I  think  you're  equal 
to  it,  we'll  come  to  some  arrangement  about  the  future." 

At  the  promise  Desiree  looked  up,  and  a  pathetic  little 
face  came  into  view,  swollen  and  tearstained,  but  without 
its  tortured  look. 

"You're  feeling  better  now,  aren't  you?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded,  and  her  head  remained  on  the  resting 
place  he  had  provided. 

At  close  quarters  he  studied  her  eyes.  He  had  not  had 
much  opportunity  hitherto.  Generally  when  she  had  been 
with  him  they  were  downcast — as  much  from  shame  as 
shyness,  he  now  realized.  There  was  a  blurred  look 
about  them,  a  sort  of  mistiness,  but  for  all  their  blindness 
they  were  beautiful. 

However,  it  was  not  her  eyes  he  next  commented  on. 

"And  you're  not  going  to  cry  any  more,"  he  continued 
firmly.  "I  don't  allow  crying  when  I'm  about.  I  look 
upon  it  as  a  personal  insult.  And  you  wouldn't  like  to 
hurt  my  feelings,  would  you?" 

Desiree  said  nothing.  Her  mouth  quivered,  and  she 
started  rubbing  a  finger  up  and  down  the  cloth  of  his  coat. 

When  that  finger  started  rubbing  him,  it  required  firm- 
ness on  the  part  of  Wilson  to  remember  his  motherly 
role.  But  he  knew  he  might  lose  more  than  he  could  gain 
by  rushing  the  situation.  The  girl  was  even  more  of  a 


DESIREE'S  NEW  HOME  165 

child  than  he  had  deemed,  left  as  she  had  been  to  wander 
alone  in  her  dark  world ;  more  like  twelve  years  old  than 
twenty-one;  by  no  means  ripe  for  the  sort  of  love  he 
wanted. 

Presently  she  drew  away  from  him,  with  an  air  of 
having  suddenly  realized  that  it  was  not  right  to  be  where 
she  was. 

However,  Wilson  did  not  give  her  time  to  dwell  on  the 
subject. 

"We'd  better  be  getting  your  things  together,"  he  said. 
"The  motor  is  waiting  somewhere  just  outside  the  village, 
so  we  can  start  back  at  once.  And  I'll  leave  my  inter- 
preter to  explain  matters  to  Juliette's  daughter,"  he 
finished,  getting  to  his  feet. 

"I  think  my  things  are  in  there,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
a  low  wooden  door  let  into  the  thick  wall,  as  she  got  up. 

"You  stay  where  you  are,"  he  said.  "I'll  do  the  pack- 
ing." 

He  was  fearful  lest  she  might  hit  or  hurt  herself, 
moving  about  in  rooms  that  were  not  familiar. 

With  an  obedience  that  he  now  knew  was  due  to  utter 
helplessness  she  sat  down. 

Wilson  made  his  way  into  the  bedroom,  a  low,  dark 
little  place  with  a  stone  floor  and  one  wall  of  the  same 
material.  In  it  was  a  truckle  bed,  a  chair,  and  a  minute 
washstand.  There  was  a  little  trunk  standing  in  one 
corner,  containing  most  of  the  things  Desiree  had  taken 
with  her  on  her  flight.  Into  it  Wilson  placed  the  blue 
muslin  dress  that  was  lying  on  the  bed,  and  one  or  two 
other  articles  in  the  cupboard-like  room  that  could  belong 
to  no  one  but  Desiree.  On  a  large  iron  nail  run  into  a 
crevice  of  the  stone  hung  the  thin  white  cloak  and  the 
little  hat  with  the  cherries. 


166  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

With  these  in  one  hand,  and  carrying  the  trunk  in  the 
other,  he  passed  out  of  the  chamber. 

He  wrapped  the  cloak  about  Desiree  and  put  the  hat 
on  her  head,  with  the  cherries  dangling  about  her  ears,  as 
he  had  seen  them  on  their  first  meeting. 

"Is  it  on  straight?"  she  questioned  anxiously. 

It  was,  so  far  as  Wilson  could  see,  and  the  query  filled 
him  anew  with  pity.  His  fairy  princess  was  far  worse 
off  than  his  mother's  fairy  tale  had  depicted.  She  could 
not  even  see  if  her  hat  were  on  straight ! 

Then  he  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  took  her  out  of 
the  poor  little  house,  the  dog  at  their  heels. 

As  he  drove  back  to  Nice,  it  seemed  to  Wilson  he  had 
won  all  round,  for  he  had  both  Desiree  and  the  necklace. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
A  GOOD  SAMARITAN 

On  reaching  his  hotel  Wilson  found  it  was  not  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  get  a  young,  unchaperoned 
girl  installed  there  as  his  guest.  It  was  all  very  well 
for  him  to  say  he  was  Desiree's  guardian,  but  it  would 
be  difficult  to  get  other  people  to  see  him  in  that  light. 

Leaving  his  charge  in  the  big  lounge  hall,  he  went  to 
the  bureau  to  engage  a  room  for  her. 

At  his  request  the  clerk  muttered  something,  and  imme- 
diately telephoned  for  the  manager. 

When  the  latter  appeared  Wilson  repeated  his  request. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  there  isn't  a  room  vacant,"  was  the 
smooth  reply. 

"Never  mind,  the  Countess  de  Mailly  can  have  my 
room,"  Wilson  said.  "And  you  can  give  me  a  shake- 
down in  the  billiard  room  or  the  lounge.  Anywhere.  I 
don't  mind  so  long  as  she's  comfortable." 

However,  the  manager  remained  obdurate.  There  was 
neither  billiard  room  nor  lounge,  nor  even  a  bathroom 
available. 

"But  some  one  moved  out  of  a  room  on  my  corridor 
only  this  morning,"  Wilson  insisted. 

This  remark  of  his  made  matters  even  worse. 

"It  isn't  done  in  this  hotel,  Mr.  Wilson,"  the  manager 
explained.  "Not  openly,  at  least.  You  could  have  brought 
the  lady  with  you  when  you  first  came,  as  your  wife  or 


168  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

sister,  and  then  it  would  have  been  no  concern  of  mine. 
As  it  is !" 

The  manager  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

It  was  a  moment  or  so  before  Wilson  grasped  the 
situation.  He  seldom  swore,  but  when  it  dawned  on  him 
what  the  manager  meant  he  indulged  in  a  regular  orgy 
of  bad  language. 

"You  damned  fool,"  he  finished.  "This  is  a  straight 
deal.  The  child  hasn't  a  friend  in  the  world  except 
myself." 

The  manager  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  down  his  nose. 
He  had  heard  similar  tales. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Wilson?  What's  the  trouble?"  an 
inquisitive  voice  startled  him  by  asking. 

The  voice  made  him  turn  quickly;  it  belonged  to  the 
only  married  woman  that  he  knew  in  the  place. 

"It's  a  girl,  Mrs.  Green,"  he  said,  smiling. 

She  wagged  a  finger  at  him. 

"That's  an  unusual  trouble  for  you,  Mr.  Wilson." 

"She's  stranded  here  without  friends  or  money,  owing 
to  the  strike.  I  brought  her  along  with  me.  And  now 
they  haven't  the  decency — or  pretend  they've  too  much 
decency — to  let  me  have  a  room  for  her,"  he  explained. 

Mrs.  Green  knew  her  man  if  the  manager  did  not. 
She  wondered  what  sort  of  a  girl  had  aroused  John 
Wilson's  interest  to  such  an  extent  that  he  was  prepared 
to  lose  his  steady-going  reputation  on  her  account. 

"Who  is  she?  What's  her  name?"  she  asked,  all 
curiosity. 

Wilson  gave  the  facts  about  Desiree  that  would  most 
appeal  to  Mrs.  Green. 

"De  Mailly  is  her  name.    She's  French.    The  Countess 


A  GOOD  SAMARITAN  169 

de  Mailly.  She's  only  a  kid.  Just  twenty-one.  And 
she's  blind." 

"Blind !     Poor  child.    And  a  countess !" 

Mrs.  Green  turned  quickly  towards  the  manager. 

"Make  a  bed  up  in  my  dressing  room  for  the  Countess. 
I'll  look  after  her." 

Wilson  could  have  hugged  his  friend.  This  arrange- 
ment appeared  to  satisfy  the  manager.  It  dawned  on 
him  Wilson  was  not  the  Don  Juan  he  had  imagined. 

"Where  is  she?"  Mrs.  Green  asked. 

"She's  in  the  hall.  But  she's  very  nervous  with 
strangers,"  Wilson  said  diplomatically.  "I'll  go  and  tell 
her  about  you  first." 

He  turned  into  the  lounge  hall  where  Desiree  was 
sitting,  the  dog's  head  on  her  knee,  a  frightened  expres- 
sion on  her  face. 

At  Wilson's  approach  a  little  smiled  chased  away  her 
scared  look. 

"The  hotel  is  full,"  he  explained.  "But  an  English 
lady,  a  friend  of  mine,  insists  on  you  sleeping  in  her 
dressing  room.  She's  a  good  sort.  I'm  sure  you'll  like 
her.  I  said  you  were  stranded  here  because  of  the  strike. 
I  couldn't  say  anything  about — them." 

>He  paused  for  a  moment,  taking  one  of  her  hands 
into  his. 

"She's  the  woman  they  took  the  bracelet  from,"  he 
went  on  gently.  "I'm  sorry.  But  you  mustn't  worry 
about  that.  She  has  no  idea  who  took  it.  But  she'll  be 
sure  to  speak  about  having  lost  it,  so  I  thought  it  was 
wiser  to  tell  you." 

At  his  words  Desiree's  hand  started  to  tremble. 

"Can't  I  stay  with  you  ?  I — I  shall  feel  so  uncomfort- 
able and  ashamed  being  with  her." 


170  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"By  and  by  you'll  be  with  me  always,  I  hope,"  he  said 
earnestly.  "But  this  is  the  best  I  can  manage  at  present." 

Then  Mrs.  Green,  unable  to  restrain  herself  any  longer, 
bore  down  on  them. 

She  did  not  wait  to  be  presented  to  Desiree. 

"The  poor  child  is  utterly  worn  out,"  she  cried.  "She 
must  go  to  bed  at  once.  You  won't  see  anything  more 
of  her  to-night,  Mr.  Wilson.  No  wonder  you  swore  at 
the  manager." 

"Did  I  swear  at  him?  I  was  feeling  fairly  ratty.  I 
knew  the  Countess  was  at  the  end  of  her  tether." 

Then  he  drew  the  girl  to  her  feet. 

"Good-night,  Desiree.  I'll  see  you  again  at  breakfast. 
In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Green  will  look  after  you." 

"You  bet  I  will,"  Mrs.  Green  agreed  heartily. 

She  put  her  arm  around  Desiree's  waist. 

"Come  along,  my  dear." 

Wilson  watched  them  go,  glad  he  had  circumnavigated 
an  unprepared- for  corner  so  successfully. 

Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  dog. 

"You,  old  chap,  will  have  to  sleep  in  the  garage.  But 
there'll  be  no  difficulty  in  getting  accommodation  for  you. 
You're  not  a  helpless  girl  with  all  the  world  against  you." 

Having  relieved  his  feelings  a  little  by  this  remark, 
with  the  dog  at  his  heels  Wilson  made  in  the  direction  of 
the  garage. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  GILBERTS  MEET  WITH  AN  OBSTACLE 

At  the  end  of  a  five  days'  search  the  Gilberts  were 
no  nearer  finding  their  hostage,  and  the  fact  began  to 
weigh  on  them  heavily.  What  was  more,  Bassino  had 
turned  oasty,  refusing  point  blank  to  lend  them  any 
money,  and  employing  private  detectives  of  his  own  to 
hunt  for  Desiree. 

Funds  were  painfully  low.  That  evening  the  father  and 
son  dined  in  their  bedroom,  meagerly,  off  a  few  dry  slices 
of  ham  and  rolls.  During  the  course  of  the  frugal  meal 
Eugene  had  been  unusually  silent. 

"Since  we  can't  find  Desiree,"  he  remarked  presently, 
"we  shall  have  to  try  another  little  game  of  bluff." 

"What  have  you  got  in  your  head  now  ?"  the  older  man 
growled. 

The  Count  loved  his  meals,  and  to  have  to  dine  off 
ham  and  rolls  did  not  improve  his  temper. 

"What's  to  prevent  us  from  going  to  Wilson  and  say- 
ing we  have  her  ?  I  can't  sell  that  bracelet  here  in  Nice. 
I  can't  get  any  more  petrol  on  tick.  To-morrow  I  shall 
have  to  sell  the  motor  to  keep  us  going.  If  we  don't  get 
hold  of  the  necklace  within  the  next  few  days  we  shall 
have  to  give  it  up  as  a  bad  job  and  go  back  to  Paris  and 
realize  on  our  last  deal.  We're  in  a  bad  way,  won  pere — 
bankrupt,  our  source  of  income  swept  away.  You  were  a 
fool  to  keep  Bassino  dangling  on  for  the  sake  of  the  neck- 

171 


i;2  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

lace.  You  ought  to  have  let  him  have  Desiree  there  and 
then.  We  could  have  milked  him  when  the  funds  were 
low.  As  it  is,  he  won't  let  us  have  a  cent." 

Eugene  helped  himself  carefully  to  mustard,  which  he 
spread  over  the  dry  ham. 

"The  only  luxury  left  to  us,"  he  went  on.  "And  when 
this  pot  is  finished,  goodness  knows  where  the  next  is 
coming  from.  It  may  even  have  to  be  worked  for,"  he 
concluded  with  a  shudder. 

"Curse  you  and  your  ill-timed  jokes,"  his  father  said. 

"Not  me,  mon  cher,"  Eugene  replied,  unruffled,  "not 
your  dutiful  son,  who  is  only  trying  to  rectify  the  mistakes 
brought  about  by  avaricious  age.  Curse  Wilson,  whose 
honesty  has  reduced  us  to  this  plight." 

"Why  must  that  damned  Englishman  interfere  in  things 
that  don't  concern  him?" 

"I  believe  that  is  what  is  called  a  'national  character- 
istic/" Eugene  replied. 

"Come  to  the  point,  can't  you  ?"  the  old  Count  broke  in 
irritably. 

"The  point — that  which  has  position,  but  no  magnitude, 
like  ourselves — is  that  to-night,  after  dinner,  we'll  go  to 
our  friend  Wilson.  We'll  say  that  we  have  found  Desiree, 
and  that  if  he  refuses  to  give  up  the  necklace  we'll  take 
her  where  he'll  never  see  her  any  more.  He  won't  like 
that.  He'll  spend  the  night,  perhaps,  in  making  up  his 
mind.  Yes,  we'll  allow  him  that  much  rope.  At  night  a 
man  thinks  deeply  about  the  girl  he  wants  to  marry.  And 
by  the  morning  he'll  have  decided  in  favor  of  Desiree. 
Then  we'll  have  the  necklace  and  leave  him,  or  Bassino, 
to  find  the  girl." 

"I  can't  carry  it  through,"  his  father  said  peevishly. 


"I'm  afraid  of  Wilson.  A  quiet  man  is  always  danger- 
ous." 

"All  right.  Leave  it  to  me  then.  I'm  afraid  of  noth- 
ing— except  work." 

Both  the  Gilberts  appeared  in  Wilson's  hotel  after  din- 
ner— suave,  polished,  and  well  dressed,  as  if  there  had 
been  no  scrambled-through  meal  of  dry  ham  and  rolls 
immediately  behind  them,  no  poverty  ahead. 

Wilson  was  sitting  in  his  usual  corner  in  the  hall,  deep 
in  some  newspaper. 

Eugene's  voice  roused  him  to  the  fact  of  their  presence. 

"Well,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  may  have  the  necklace,  but 
we  have  Desiree." 

The  remark  took  Wilson  by  surprise — a  surprise 
which  Eugene  misinterpreted. 

"And  if  you  don't  let  us  have  the  necklace,"  he  went 
on  in  a  threatening  manner,  "we're  going  to  marry  her  to 
a  South  American  millionaire,  a  man  as  mad  for  her  as 
you  are." 

Wilson  had  recovered  from  his  astonishment. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said  slowly. 

He  could  afford  to  be  casual  about  the  matter.  Desiree 
was  upstairs,  comfortably  tucked  up  in  a  bed  in  Mrs. 
Green's  dressing  room.  Immediately  after  dinner  the 
latter  had  bustled  out  to  see  how  her  charge  was  faring. 
Had  Desiree  been  kidnaped  he  would  have  heard  of  it 
long  before  now. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  the  Count 
de  Gilbert  asked. 

"Nothing,"  Wilson  said,  returning  to  his  newspaper. 

His  attitude  told  the  confederates  there  was  some 
hitch  in  their  plan. 


I74  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Don't  you  try  to  bluff  me,  my  good  man,"  Eugene 
started. 
Putting  the  newspaper  down,  Wilson  got  to  his  feet. 

"The  Countess  de  Mailly  is  here,"  he  said,  "in  this  hotel, 
in  charge  of  a  friend  of  mine.  You  can  believe  me  or 
not,  as  you  like.  In  any  case,  I'm  not  going  to  subject 
her  to  the  ordeal  of  an  interview  with  you  two  black- 
guards. You've  lost  all  round  on  this  deal.  And  I'll  show 
you  one  of  the  things  you've  lost." 

Wilson  paused  and  felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Then 
he  drew  out  "The  Necklace  of  Tears"  and  dangled  it 
before  the  Gilberts. 

It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  but  at  that  moment  he  was 
overelated  with  his  own  success.  And  he  was  thinking 
that  the  best  punishment  he  could  dole  out  to  the  two 
scoundrels  was  a  sight  of  the  necklace  they  had  schemed 
for  and  lost. 

In  the  electric  light  it  broke  up  into  a  million  facets, 
winking  in  a  malicious  manner  at  the  two  men  who 
coveted  it. 

Putting  the  necklace  back  into  his  pocket,  Wilson 
turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

Eugene  watched  his  broad  figure  until  it  disappeared. 

"So,  mon  ptre,  the  necklace  is  not  at  the  banker's.  It's 
on  the  person  of  Mr.  Wilson." 

Thereupon  he  lapsed  into  thoughtful  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
DESIREE  FINDS  A  TRUE  FRIEND 

When  Wilson  said  Desiree  would  hear  about  the 
bracelet  he  was  wrong.  Mrs.  Green  with  a  young  girl 
to  look  after  was  a  very  different  person  from  the  painted, 
powdered,  overdressed  woman  who  acted  as  if  she  were 
thirty  years  younger  than  she  really  was.  She  was  of  a 
type  who  had  only  one  role  in  this  world,  that  of  a  mother, 
and  when  her  children  get  beyond  the  mothering  stage  she 
develops  either  religion,  melancholy,  or  frivolity. 

The  minute  she  got  Desiree  into  her  room  she  forgot 
her  youthful  pose  and  became  her  real  self.  In  no  time 
she  had  the  girl  into  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  resting 
in  an  easy  chair,  and  drinking  a  comforting  cup  of  tea 
Mrs.  Green  herself  had  made  for  her.  And  when  Desiree 
raised  a  demur,  she  said: 

"You're  doing  me  a  good  turn,  Countess,  not  me  you. 
I've  no  one  to  look  after  nowadays ;  they've  all  got  beyond 
me." 

Although  Desiree  had  said  nothing,  Mrs.  Green  knew 
her  head  was  aching.  As  soon  as  the  bed  was  made  up 
her  charge  was  placed  in  it,  with  the  blinds  down  and 
eau-de-cologne  on  her  hands  and  forehead  and  handker- 
chief. When  dinner  time  came,  she  chose  dishes  from 
the  menu  most  suitable  for  an  appetite  pain  had  made 
capricious. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Green,  flabby  and  unpainted, 


176  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

with  the  few  remaining  wisps  of  her  own  hair  hanging 
from  under  a  coquettish  nightcap,  was  up  long  before  her 
usual  hour,  hovering  over  her  charge's  bed  to  see  if  she 
were  better. 

Mrs.  Green  had  her  own  private  bathroom  leading  off 
her  bedroom.  She  did  not  ring  for  the  chambermaid  to 
prepare  a  bath  for  Desiree  as  she  did  when  she  wanted 
one  herself.  She  filled  the  bath,  putting  a  plump  hand 
in  frequently  to  make  sure  it  was  the  right  heat;  when 
she  had  it  to  her  liking,  popping  in  a  scented  tablet.  Then 
she  left  the  girl,  with  instructions  to  be  sure  and  call  if 
there  was  anything  she  could  not  find,  or  wanted,  and  she, 
Mrs.  Green,  would  be  only  too  pleased  to  bring  or  get  it. 

Afterwards  she  insisted  on  helping  Desiree  into  her 
clothes  and  brushing  and  dressing  her  hair,  although  the 
girl  was  quite  capable  of  doing  these  things  for  herself. 

As  she  brushed  out  the  long  strands  she  said : 

"Once  I  had  a  little  girl,  Rose,  her  name  was.  But  she 
died  when  she  was  eight  years  old.  Me  and  Mr.  Green 
wasn't  so  well  off  in  those  days,  or  we  might  have  saved 
her.  But  it  meant  a  special  train  to  London  and  an  opera- 
tion at  once.  Well,  and  we  just  couldn't  afford  it.  She 
was  very  pretty,  my  Rosie,  with  blue  eyes  and  dark  brown 
hair.  If  she'd  lived,  she'd  have  been  nearly  twenty-one 
now.  Just  about  the  same  age  as  you,  my  dear.  And  if 
I'd  had  her,  I  could  have  brushed  her  hair,  just  like  I'm 
doing  yours." 

Mrs.  Green  stopped  and  sniffed  and  brushed  again 
more  vigorously  than  ever. 

"Boys  are  all  very  well,"  she  went  on  presently,  "but 
they've  no  use  for  mothers.  I've  got  three — fine,  big  boys, 
twenty-four,  twenty-one,  and  nineteen.  But  if  I  was  to 
go  into  Arthur  or  Jim  or  Ted's  room  and  say,  'Let  me 


DESIREE  FINDS  A  TRUE  FRIEND        177 

brush  your  hair  for  you,  dearie,  or  button  up  your  waist- 
coat, they'd  look  at  me  as  if  I  was  cracked.  You  can't 
dress  boys  up  for  a  ball,  or  put  a  tuck  in  their  trousers. 
You  can  only  mend  their  socks.  And  now  we're  so  well 
off  that  they  won't  even  wear  their  socks  mended !" 

Two  tears  splashed  down  on  Desiree's  white  neck,  big 
and  hot,  and  she  touched  Mrs.  Green's  plump  arm  with  a 
gentle,  caressing  hand. 

The  girl  did  not  know  the  accent  was  common,  for  it 
was  a  foreign  language.  But  she  heard  the  pain  in  Mrs. 
Green's  voice — the  pain  of  a  woman  who  has  no  role  in 
this  life  except  that  of  a  mother ;  who  would  have  moth- 
ered her  children  until  they  were  old  and  gray,  and  who 
had  lost  the  one  girl  on  whom  she  might  have  lavished  her 
affection. 

"Sometimes  I  talk  like  this  to  Mr.  Green,  and  he  gets 
angry,"  she  went  on.  "But  if  you  talk  about  things  that 
hurt,  it  makes  them  hurt  less.  Sometimes,  too,  when  I 
see  a  pretty  frock  advertised  in  the  morning  paper,  I  say 
to  him,  'Now,  wouldn't  that  just  have  suited  our  Rosie?' 
And  he  tells  me  to  'shut  up,'  and  he  pushes  his  plate  away 
and  won't  have  any  more  breakfast.  Men  get  queer  and 
short-tempered  when  they  get  older.  And  they  forget 
the  little  ones  that  have  gone." 

As  Desiree  listened  to  the  rigmarole,  it  seemed  to  her' 
Mr.  Green  had  not  forgotten — that  he  remembered 
almost  as  keenly  as  his  wife,  and  that  the  woman's  life 
was  nothing  but  the  grave  of  a  little  child. 

When  her  hair  was  brushed  and  dressed  and  neatly 
coiled  in  a  golden  crown  on  the  top  of  her  small  head, 
Desiree  got  up,  and,  putting  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Green's 
neck,  kissed  her. 

The  kiss  made  Mrs.  Green  start  on  another  tack. 


i;8  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"There's  ray  Arthur;  he's  twenty-four,  a  fine,  good- 
looking  boy,  and  so  steady ;  his  father's  right  hand  in  the 
business.  You'd  like  him,  Countess,  and  he'd  like  you, 
because  he  likes  fair  girls." 

Mrs.  Green  paused  and  did  a  rapid  piece  of  match- 
making; then,  just  as  rapidly,  she  undid  it  again.  She 
remembered  another  who  "liked"  Desiree — the  man  who 
had  brought  her  to  the  hotel  the  previous  evening.  She 
sighed  deeply,  seeing  a  desirable  daughter-in-law  vanish 
— a  girl  who  was  a  countess,  and  as  helpless  as  a  little 
child,  whom  she  could  have  fussed  over  and  petted  for 
the  rest  of  her  life. 

"Now,  my  dear,  you  run  along  down  to  breakfast," 
she  said.  "Mr.  Wilson  always  has  his  downstairs,  and 
he  said  I  wasn't  to  keep  you  up  here  for  both  dinner  and 
breakfast.  As  for  me,  I'm  not  fit  to  appear  before  lunch. 
I'm  too  busy  getting  the  'footprints  off  the  sands  of 
time.' " 

Then  she  remembered  Desiree  could  not  find  her  way 
alone.  After  kissing  the  girl  fondly,  she  rang  for  a 
chambermaid  to  take  her  down. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
DESIREE'S  BLINDNESS 

Although  Wilson  had  ordered  breakfast  for  half-past 
eight,  he  was  in  the  dining  room  just  after  the  clock 
struck  eight.  The  moment  Desiree  appeared  he  crossed 
to  her  side.  Relieving  the  chambermaid  of  her  charge,  he 
took  the  girl  to  his  own  table. 

Now  he  knew  her  for  what  she  really  was,  untaught 
and  afflicted,  wholly  ignorant  of  the  world  and  all  that 
went  on  in  it,  and  although  he  loved  her  none  the  less,  he 
put  his  own  love  in  the  background  and  treated  her  as  a 
big  brother  would  a  little  sister  of  whom  he  was  fond. 

"Well,  Desiree,"  he  said,  once  they  were  seated, 
"French  people  are  going  to  have  two  eggs  for  breakfast 
this  morning,  as  well  as  a  lot  of  other  things." 

"You  must  think  I  live  to  eat,"  she  answered,  smiling 
at  him  shyly. 

"You're  going  to  live  to  do  a  lot  of  things  you've  never 
done  before,"  he  replied  emphatically. 

"What  sort  of  things  ?"  she  asked,  with  timid  curiosity. 

"Well,  after  lunch,  for  instance,  you're  going  with 
Mrs.  Green  to  buy  new  hats  and  dresses,  as  many  as  you 
like,  and  whatever  you  fancy.  And  to-night  I'm  going 
to  take  you  out  to  dinner  and  a  dance." 

A  little  flush  of  excitement  came  to  her  face,  then  it 
died  away  and  she  was  silent  again. 

As  they  awaited  the  coming  of  breakfast,  Desiree's 


i8o  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

mind  was  running  on  the  comfort  and  luxury  that  had 
suddenly  come  into  her  life,  and  the  things  her  friend 
said  she  must  buy  and  do. 

"They'll  cost  a  lot  of  money,  tnon  ami,"  she  ventured 
presently.  "I  don't  know  how  I  shall  be  able  to  pay  you 
back." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "If 
the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  you  can  sell  your  necklace 
instead  of  having  it  buried  with  you." 

At  the  mention  of  the  necklace  an  anxious  expression 
crossed  her  face. 

Wilson  thought  it  was  because  he  had  suggested  she 
should  sell  her  heirloom.  However,  he  was  wrong. 

At  that  moment,  foremost  in  Desiree's  mind  was  the 
curse  on  it — the  evil  that  always  came  on  whatever  or 
whoever  the  owner  liked  the  best.  She  knew  wrhat  was 
her  most  cherished  possession — the  friend  sitting  opposite 
to  her.  And  she  would  rather  have  died  than  have  any 
evil  come  on  him. 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  sell  it,"  she  said.  "Is  it  worth 
enough  to  buy  Mrs.  Green  another  bracelet  with,  as  well 
as  pay  for  all  the  things  I'm  having  now  ?" 

Her  words  told  Wilson  what  he  had  always  suspected 
— that  she  had  no  idea  of  the  fortune  her  heirloom  repre 
sented. 

"Has  Mrs.  Green  been  harping  on  her  loss  ?"  he  asked 
sharply,  a  note  of  concern  in  his  voice,  for  he  realized 
to  the  fullest  how  Desiree  would  feel  on  the  subject. 

"Oh,  no.  She  never  said  anything  at  all  about  it.  She 
talked  of  quite  different  things.  -But  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  anything  being  taken  from  her." 

With  Desiree  now  in  his  keeping,  Wilson  had  no  inten- 
tion of  selling  the  necklace.  Married  to  him,  she  could 


DESIREE'S  BLINDNESS  181 

keep  her  heirloom.  As  for  it  being  cursed,  he  never  gave 
a  thought  to  that. 

"I'll  take  it  to  a  jeweler's  this  afternoon  and  see  how 
much  it's  really  worth,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,  do  please.  I'd  like  to  buy  Mrs.  Green  a  bracelet 
like  the  one  they — she — that's  lost,"  she  finished  in  a 
shamefaced  way. 

The  arrival  of  breakfast  turned  their  attention  to  other 
matters. 

After  pouring  out  the  coffee,  Wilson  took  the  tops  off 
Desiree's  eggs  for  her,  buttered  her  roll,  and  put  all  she 
wanted  within  reach  of  her  fingers.  During  the  repast, 
he  marveled  continually  how  she  managed  as  well  as 
she  did.  Considering  their  few  meetings,  he  quite  saw 
how  she  had  deceived  him.  She  went  about  her  meal  with 
no  more  blunders  than  a  shortsighted,  imaginative  girl 
might  make  who  wandered  in  a  world  of  dreams,  occa- 
sionally coming  down  to  earth  and  the  mere  facts  around 
her.  But  Wilson  knew  her  whole  energies  were  concen- 
trated on  keeping  her  affliction  from  obtruding  on  the 
outside  world. 

"Can't  you  see  at  all,  Desiree  ?"  he  asked  presently. 

In  watching  her  slow,  gentle  movements  it  seemed  in- 
credible that  she  was  sightless. 

"I  know  when  it's  night  and  when  it's  day.  In  the  day- 
time people  are  just  vague  shadows  that  move  in  a  thick 
mist." 

The  pathetic  confession  told  Wilson  that  whatever  was 
wrong  with  her  eyes,  at  least  the  optic  nerve  was  not 
wholly  atrophied. 

Then  he  remembered  having  read  somewhere  that 
people  who  are  really  blind — blind  with  the  blindness  of 


182 

dead  eyes — cannot  cry.  Yet  how  Desiree  had  wept !  The 
shoulder  of  his  coat  seemed  still  damp  with  her  tears. 

With  this  fallacy  well  to  the  fore  in  his  mind  he  asked : 

"Have  you  ever  had  your  eyes  examined?" 

"Not  that  I  can  remember.  My  uncle  always  said  it 
would  be  no  use." 

Then  slowly,  in  shame,  the  tears  started  to  trickle  down 
her  cheeks. 

"Now.  what  did  I  say  about  crying?  It  hurts  my  feel- 
ings." 

His  voice  was  a  caress.  After  a  few  sniffs  the  tears 
stopped.  In  Desiree's  darkness  now  was  the  voice  of  her 
friend,  kind  and  comforting.  She  wanted  to  go  and  lean 
against  the  strength  that  had  invaded  the  gloom  surround- 
ing her,  never  to  have  to  move  away  from  it.  He  felt  so 
like  part  of  herself,  this  man  with  his  kind,  quiet  ways, 
that  for  all  their  quietness  had  such  a  feeling  of  power 
behind  them. 

For  some  minutes  Wilson  was  silent. 

He  attended  to  his  charge's  wants,  putting  butter  and 
marmalade  on  her  toast,  and  then  cutting  it  up  into  neat 
little  strips  that  were  easy  to  handle.  He  saw  she  was 
almost  afraid  to  eat,  lest  she  should  spill  or  drop  things 
on  herself.  Her  inborn  daintiness  must  have  made  her 
affliction  doubly  hard. 

As  he  did  these  little  things  for  her,  he  was  thinking 
of  what  she  had  said. 

So  far  as  she  knew,  her  eyes  had  never  been  examined. 
Her  uncle,  the  one  who  should  have  attended  to  the 
matter,  had  not  troubled  about  it.  Considering  what 
Wilson  now  knew  of  the  Gilberts,  he  put  a  question  to 
himself;  "Why  hadn't  her  guardian  given  her  a  chance  of 
seeing?" 


DESIREE'S  BLINDNESS  183 

His  shrewd  mind  did  not  have  to  search  far  for  a 
reason. 

Desiree  blind  would  be  much  more  easily  robbed  of  her 
heritage  than  a  Desiree  who  could  see. 

As  matters  stood,  she  could  neither  read  nor  write,  and 
in  worldly  matters  she  was  as  ignorant  as  a  child  of  ten, 
as  easily  gulled. 

As  he  pondered  on  the  matter,  the  feeling  grew  within 
him  more  and  more  that  the  Count  de  Gilbert  had  pur- 
posely kept  his  niece  in  darkness  and  ignorance. 

Her  father  had  died  before  she  was  born,  her  mother 
when  she  was  a  week  old,  but  whether  her  grandfather 
had  lived  long  enough  to  have  had  her  eyes  thoroughly 
tested  and  examined  Wilson  did  not  know. 

"How  old  were  you  when  your  grandfather  died?" 
Wilson  asked  presently. 

"I  was  just  over  a  month  old." 

The  answer  satisfied  him. 

At  a  month  old  it  might  not  be  known  that  the  child's 
eyes  were  defective. 

And  an  operation  in  her  babyhood  might  have  cured 
her! 

At  that  moment  Wilson  could  have  cheerfully  strangled 
the  Count  de  Gilbert,  for  he  was  now  almost  certain  that 
Desiree  had  been  condemned  to  years  of  blindness  by  her 
scheming  thief  of  a  guardian.  And  the  one  question  that 
filled  his  mind  was,  Had  he  come  into  her  life  too  late  to 
do  any  good  ? 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  PRINCESS  OF  THE  FAIRY  TALE 

That  morning  Wilson  took  his  charge  for  a  drive  to  a 
favorite  spot  of  his — a  jutting  tongue  of  land  where  pink 
and  white  and  yellow  villas  nestled  among  orange,  lemon, 
and  loquat  trees;  where  palms  stood  out  against  a 
sapphire  sky;  where  the  air  was  fragrant  with  the  scent 
of  peach  blossom,  and  cherry  trees  covered  the  ground 
with  a  snow  of  white  petals,  and  the  olives  stood  gray  and 
old  against  the  greenness  of  the  spring. 

He  drove  his  car  right  to  the  end  of  the  cape.  There, 
scant  grass  and  wild  thyme  grew,  and  stunted  pines  stood, 
twisted  and  lichen-grown,  leaning  back  from  the  sea  in 
which  they  were  sometimes  mirrored. 

The  waves  broke  gently  on  shelving  cliffs.  Here  and 
there  little  pools  glittered  like  sapphires  and  emeralds  and 
jewels  of  jade  among  the  brown  rocks.  Beyond,  an  ex- 
panse of  milky  blue  water  stretched  away  to  a  misty 
horizon.  Behind,  the  mountains  of  the  mainland  stood  up 
like  a  wall,  shutting  out  the  workaday  world,  their  tops 
covered  with  a  blur  of  white  clouds. 

Wilson's  heart  was  bleeding  when  he  helped  Desiree 
from  the  car.  She  could  see  nothing  of  the  beautj  around 
her,  and  he  determined  that  she  should  have  light  if  it  lay 
within  die  power  of  man  to  give  it  to  her. 

Because  she  could  not  see,  he  took  her  to  the  sweetest 
spot  he  could  find,  where  wild  thyme  and  lavender  grew, 

184 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  THE  FAIRY  TALE    185 

and  bushes  of  fragrant  roses;  where  the  sun  drew  out 
the  incense  of  the  pines,  and  the  sea  crooned  on  the  rocks 
below. 

He  picked  a  little  corner  that  was  nothing  but  scent 
and  soft,  murmurous  sounds,  where  a  faint,  fresh,  salt 
breeze  fanned  her  hair,  making  the  loose  curls  dance  about 
her  wistful  face. 

Taking  off  his  coat,  he  folded  it  up  for  her  to  sit  on. 
Then  he  stretched  himself  beside  her,  watching  her  as  she 
sat  with  the  cherries  dangling  about  her  ears,  her  tragic 
eyes  fixed  on  an  expanse  of  blue  she  could  not  see. 

"It's  very  nice  here,"  she  said  presently.  "So  sweet 
and  fresh  and  peaceful.  I  love  to  hear  the  sea  whisper- 
ing so  softly.  I  don't  like  noise.  That's  why  I'm  so 
afraid  of  thunder.  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  storm 
I  should  never  have  known  you." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  Wilson  responded.  "I'd 
seen  you,  even  if  you  hadn't  seen  me.  I  should  have 
tracked  you  to  your  lair,  and  scraped  acquaintance  some- 
how." 

"Would  you  ?"  she  asked.    "Why  ?" 

"Because,  Desiree,  you  are  so  beautiful,"  he  answered* 
a  touch  of  passion  in  his  voice. 

His  words  made  her  shiver. 

"Mr.  Bassino  always  says  things  like  that,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice.  "I — I  don't  like  him.  And — once  he  kissed 
me." 

At  this  Wilson  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Who's  Mr.  Bassino?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"The  man  my  uncle  says  I  must  marry.  I  have  so 
wanted  to  ask  you  to  help  me — to  tell  me  what  to  do 
about  it.  I  can't  bear  him  near  me.  When  he  touches 
me  I  feel  I  must  scream.  If  I  were  a  little  girl  I  know 


186  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

I  should.  But  my  uncle  says  I  must  marry  him,  because 
he's  a  millionaire." 

She  went  on  to  say  where  she  had  mej:  the  Brazilian, 
and  how  he  would  be  coming  to  claim  her  any  day  now 
that  she  was  twenty-one. 

As  Wilson  listened,  it  seemed  to  him  that  more  than 
ever  was  she  the  poor  little  princess  of  his  mother's  fairy- 
tale. There  was  even  the  ogre !  And  more  than  ever  he 
hated  her  relatives,  who  would  have  thrust  on  her  a  man 
she  loathed. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  the  ogre,  Princess,"  he  said 
fondly.  "Leave  him  to  me." 

"You  won't  make  me  marry  Mr.  Bassino  ?" 

That  pleading,  pathetic  little  face,  with  the  small  mouth 
trembling  like  a  pale  rosebud  in  its  fragile  loveliness, 
almost  made  Wilson  forget  his  brotherly  role  in  a  mad 
desire  to  put  his  lips  on  it,  and  make  it  tremble  through 
love,  not  fear. 

"You're  never  going  to  be  (made  to  do  anything  now, 
Desiree.  You're  going  to  do  just  whatever  you  like  for 
all  the  rest  of  your  life.  If  you  don't  want  to  marry  Mr. 
Bassino,  that  settles  it.  I'll  see  nobody  makes  you." 

This  promise  took  the  strained  look  from  her  face. 

"You've  no  idea  what  a  relief  it  is  to  me  to  hear  you 
say  that.  I'm  so  afraid  of  that  man.  I'd  rather  die  than 
have  to  be  with  him  always,"  she  confessed. 

"How  would  you  like  being  with  me  always  ?"  he  asked 
tenderly. 

One  of  the  "rose-leaf"  hands  that  Wilson  loved  came 
in  his  direction,  hovered  for  a  moment,  missed  its  aim, 
hovered  again,  and  then  settled  on  his  arm.  "I  like  being 
with  you  better  than  with  anybody  else,"  she  said.  "And 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  THE  FAIRY  TALE    187 

I've  never  really  liked  being  with  anyone  before  except 
Juliette  and  Pierre." 

Wilson  took  the  little  hand  into  his  and  held  it  there, 
and  Desiree  was  quite  content  to  let  it  remain. 

"Why  did  you  call  me  Princess  ?"  she  asked  presently. 

Then  he  told  her  the  fairy  tale  his  mother  used  to  tell 
him  when  he  was  a  small  boy,  about  the  princess  with  the 
blue  eyes  and  golden  hair,  with  the  skin  like  alabaster  and 
hands  no  bigger  than  rose  leaves,  who  lived  all  alone  in  a 
ruined  castle.  But  he  left  off  with  the  slaying  of  the 
dragons  and  the  ogre.  He  did  not  add  that  she  married 
him  and  they  lived  happily  ever  after  in  the  old  castle 
far  off  in  the  mountains. 

She  smiled  sadly. 

"There's  one  dragon  you  can't  slay,  mon  ami.  He'll 
be  with  me  always." 

Wilson  knew  she  referred  to  her  blindness.  He  was 
not  so  sure  that  even  that  dragon  could  not  be  slain  also, 
but  he  said  nothing  of  this  to  Desiree. 

After  lunch  that  day,  when  she  was  out  shopping  with 
Mrs.  Green,  he  went  to  the  manager  and  inquired  the 
name  of  the  best  eye  specialist  in  the  place.  Then  he 
telephoned  and  made  an  appointment  for  five  o'clock.  At 
four  he  had  arranged  to  meet  Desiree  and  her  chaperone 
at  a  fashionable  restaurant  for  tea. 

Having  nothing  else  to  do,  in  the  interval  he  went  to  a 
large  jeweler's  shop.  First  of  all  he  looked  at  rings — 
rings  so  small  that  they  refused  to  do  more  than  go  over 
the  top  of  his  little  finger.  Finally  he  chose  one  mounted 
with  a  big  pearl  set  round  with  diamonds. 

Having  made  his  purchase,  he  produced  "The  Necklace 
of  Tears." 


i88  THE  WUMAX  Hi:  DMSIRF.D 

"I  wonder  if  you'd  mind  giving  me  a  rough  idea  of 
what  this  is  worth  ?"  he  asked. 

On  seeing  it,  a  look  of  awe  passed  over  the  jeweler's 
face,  to  be  chased  away  a  moment  later  by  an  incredulous 
expression. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  said. 

He  fetched  various  little  implements  and  a  bottle  or 
two.  Then  he  tapped  and  tested  all  the  stones,  and  looked 
at  them  through  a  magnifying  glass. 

Afterwards,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  straightened  himself, 
and  stood  looking  at  the  necklace  as  if  at  some  god. 

"When  you  brought  it  out  I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes," 
he  said  at  length.  "The  stones  are  real,  every  one  of 
them.  Diamonds  have  practically  trebled  in  value 
during  the  last  few  years.  You'd  get  £200,000  for  that  if 
you  took  it  to  the  right  market — America,  of  course.  If 
you  want  to  sell  it,  I  can  find  you  a  customer  at  a  five  per 
cent,  commission,"  he  finished,  handing  it  back  reluctantly. 

Wilson  scooped  up  the  necklace  and  put  it  into  its  bag. 

"It's  not  for  sale,"  he  said.  "I'm  only  getting  it  valued 
for  a  friend." 

He  left  the  shop,  thinking  that  Desiree  was  as  well  off 
as  he  was,  for  her  necklace  represented  a  fortune 
equaling  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  CONSULTATION 

Promptly  at  five  o'clock  Wilson's  motor  drew  up  out- 
side tihe  doctor's  house.  During  tea  he  had  told  Desiree 
where  be  was  taking  her,  and  Mrs.  Green  had  volunteered 
to  accompany  them. 

When  they  were  ushered  into  the  waiting  room 
Desiree  sat  beside  him,  saying  nothing,  her  hands  clasped 
tightly  together  on  her  knee,  a  strained  expression  on  her 
face. 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  was  saying,  Wilson  talked  in 
a  light  vein  to  Mrs.  Green. 

They  did  not  have  to  wait  very  long  before  being 
ushered  into  the  consulting  room.  Leaving  Mrs.  Green 
behind,  Wilson  went  in  with  the  patient. 

As  Desiree  entered,  the  doctor  glanced  at  her  sharply. 
She  looked  in  a  nervous,  overwrought  condition ;  more  as 
if  she  were  on  trial  for  her  life  than  coming  in  for  a 
consultation.  Very  soon  he  had  her  installed  in  a  chair, 
and  the  examination  started. 

In  a  fever  of  anxiety  Wilson  sat  waiting.  If  the  verdict 
were  unfavorable,  he  would  not  let  it  rest  at  that.  He 
would  take  her  to  Paris,  London,  America — to  every 
specialist  the  world  over — before  he  gave  up  the  task  as 
hopeless. 

All  this  he  arranged  with  himself  as  he  listened  to  the 
doctor's  questions  and  Desiree's  replies  in  a  low,  trembling 

189 


igo  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

voice  that  spoke  of  the  mental  strain  she  was  enduring, 
and  saw  those  beautiful  blurred  eyes  being  looked  into 
by  sharp,  clever  ones,  in  a  variety  of  lights  and  through  a 
variety  of  instruments. 

On  making  the  appointment  Wilson  had  asked  that 
Desiree  should  not  be  in  the  room  when  the  verdict  was 
given.  Whether  it  was  good  or  bad,  he  wanted  to  break 
the  news  himself,  for  in  the  first  case  the  relief  would  be 
almost  a  shock ;  in  the  second,  he  wanted  to  ease  the  blow 
as  much  as  possible. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  barely  elapsed  when  the 
specialist  put  down  his  instruments. 

"I  think  I've  seen  all  I  need,"  he  remarked. 

As  he  spoke  he  glanced  at  Wilson,  censure  in  his 
gaze. 

At  once  Wilson  was  on  his  feet,  anxious  to  get 
Desiree  out  of  the  way  for  a  moment  and  to  hear  what 
the  specialist  had  to  say. 

"I'll  take  the  Countess  de  Mailly  back  to  her  friend," 
he  said,  hurrying  with  her  towards  the  door. 

Leaving  Desiree  with  Mrs.  Green,  he  made  his  way 
with  all  haste  back  to  the  consulting  room. 

"Well  ?"  he  asked,  the  moment  the  door  was  closed. 

Wilson  felt  his  voice  was  more  a  croak  than  a  question, 
for  his  throat  had  gone  suddenly  hard  and  dry. 

"There's  no  reason  why  your  young  friend  shouldn't 
see  as  well  as  you  or  I  can,"  the  doctor  replied. 

Wilson  did  not  wait  to  hear  any  more.  At  once  he 
was  back  in  the  waiting  room. 

His  footstep  made  Desiree  start  up,  her  face  white  and 
drawn. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said  quickly. 

"All  right?"  she  repeated  faintly. 


A  CONSULTATION  191 

"There's  a  very  good  chance  of  a  cure.  Every  chance, 
in  fact." 

"Every  chance  ?"  she  repeated,  in  a  dazed  voice.  "Then 
my  uncle Oh,  mon  Dieu!" 

Her  hands  went  to  her  face,  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
hideous  truth.  Then  she  started  to  sway  slightly. 

"She's  going  to  faint,"  Mrs.  Green  said  quickly, 
scrambling  to  her  feet  with  more  haste  than  elegance. 

Quick  as  she  was,  Wilson  was  quicker.  Light  and 
limp,  Desiree  fell  into  his  arms. 

"Poor  little  girl!  She's  had  a  rough  time.  And  now 
she  knows  what  I  suspected,"  he  said,  as  he  laid  her  on 
the  couch. 

"What's  that?"  Mrs.  Green  asked. 

"That  she  could  have  been  cured  years  ago  had  anyone 
troubled  to  attend  to  the  matter." 

Mrs.  Green  threw  up  her  hands  with  horror. 

Without  waiting  to  explain  things  further,  Wilson 
went  back  to  the  consulting  room. 

His  abrupt  entry  made  the  doctor  look  round. 

"The  Countess  has  fainted."  Wilson  said,  his  voice 
heavy  with  anxiety. 

However,  the  specialist  took  the  announcement  very 
casually. 

"I'm  not  surprised.  It  was  evident  the  Countess  de 
Mailly  felt  her  infirmity  deeply,  and  the  relief  has  been 
too  much  for  her.  Why  wasn't  the  operation  done  years 
ago?"  he  went  on  in  a  severe  tone.  "Through  gross 
neglect  she  has  been  condemned  to  pass  the  whole  of  her 
young  life  in  darkness." 

The  words  roused  Wilson  to  the  fact  that  for  the  sake 
of  her  own  good  name  Desiree's  relatives  must  be 
screened. 


192  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"The  Countess  has  only  been  in  my  charge  twenty- 
four  hours,  or  you  may  be  sure  it  would  have  been  done 
sooner." 

The  doctor's  gaze  rested  on  him  with  interest  this  time, 
not  censure. 

He  was  wondering  how  this  girl  of  his  own  nation,  one 
of  the  old  noblesse,  had  come  into  the  keeping  of  the 
obviously  self-made  Englishman.  But  she  had  come  with 
a  chaperone  and  from  an  hotel  whose  clientele  were  be- 
yond reproach.  There  were  a  lot  of  questions  he  wanted 
to  ask,  but  he  had  a  very  good  idea  of  the  type  of  man 
with  whom  he  was  dealing,  and  he  deemed  it  better  to  keep 
strictly  to  professional  matters. 

"When  would  you  like  me  to  operate?"  he  asked. 

"To-morrow,  if  possible.  I  won't  have  the  child  kept 
in  darkness  one  day  longer  than  is  necessary." 

"To-morrow  then,"  the  doctor  agreed. 

"And  let  her  have  the  best  of  everything,"  Wilson  said. 
"Don't  stint  for  anything.  She's  got  a  lot  to  make  up  for 
in  the  way  of  comfort." 

"I'll  see  she  lacks  nothing,"  the  doctor  replied,  still 
wondering  how  his  new  patient  came  to  be  under  Wilson's 
protection. 

Then  he  had  more  to  say  about  Desiree's  case,  but  it 
was  of  a  technical  nature.  Most  of  it  was  beyond  Wil- 
son's comprehension,  but  he  gathered  that  the  operation 
could  have  been  done  when  Desiree  was  a  baby. 

Seeing  Wilson  was  fidgeting  with  anxiety,  the  doctor 
picked  up  a  bottle  of  eau-de-cologne  and  went  into  the 
waiting  room. 

Desiree  woke  to  the  world  feeling  like  a  condemned 
prisoner  reprieved.  In  the  darkness  was  the  voice  of 
*he  friend  who  was  trying  to  save  he/;  the  subtle  odor 


A  CONSULTATION  193 

of  heather  and  smoke  that  always  clung  about  his  gar- 
meats;  the  feeling  of  strength  and  power  he  had  brought 
into  her  helpless  life. 

She  stretched  her  hands  towards  him. 

"To  be  able  to  see!"  she  whispered.  "To  be  just  like 
everyone  else!  I  can't  believe  it.  Oh,  my  savior!  My 
king!" 

Wilson  did  not  know  what  she  said,  for  she  spoke  in 
French.  But  the  doctor  did,  and  Mrs.  Green  had  a  good 
idea,  and  they  both  went  quickly  into  the  consulting  room 
on  the  pretext  of  arranging  further  details  about  the 
coming  operation. 

Once  they  had  gone,  Wilson  knelt  by  Desiree's  couch, 
stroking  her  hair,  patting  her  hands,  for  he  saw  she  was 
distraught  with  relief  and  the  knowledge  of  her  uncle's 
treachery. 

"It  must  be  a  god  who  has  come  into  my  night,"  that 
soft,  faint  voice  went  on  in  its  own  language.  "Only 
gods  can  bring  light  into  darkness." 

But  when  she  took  his  hands  and  would  have  pressed 
her  lips  on  them,  Wilson  had  a  word  to  say  too. 

"No,  Desiree.  No,  my  little  one,  I'm  not  going  to 
have  your  precious  kisses  on  my  great  paws.  This  is  the 
place  for  them."  He  stooped  until  his  lips  rested  on  hers. 
Then  he  did  the  kissing. 

The  pressure  of  his  lips,  tender  and  passionate,  sent  a 
long  tremor  through  the  girl.  The  kiss  startled  her  with 
its  message  of  longing  and  desire,  but  she  did  not  shrink 
from  it,  as  she  did  from  those  her  cousin  forced  on  her, 
and  the  one  Bassino  had  once  stolen.  Although  it  fright- 
ened her,  and  left  her  weak  and  trembling,  it  also  left 
her  with  a  desire  to  press  closer  to  the  giver,  to  know  all 
that  the  caress  held, 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO 

When  Desiree  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  leave  the 
house,  Wilson  accompanied  her  back  to  the  hotel.  After- 
wards he  went  out  again  on  a  little  mission  of  his  own. 

Considering  the  happenings  of  the  last  twenty-four 
hours,  he  was  in  a  mood  for  celebrating.  He  drew  up 
in  front  of  a  little  shop  which  made  up  for  lack  of  window 
space  and  the  few  things  displayed  therein  by  its  enormous 
charges,  and  the  fact  that  in  the  expanse  of  rooms  behind 
were  garments  fit  for  the  wives  and  daughters  of  princes 
and  millionaires — garments  the  eyes  of  mere  shop-gazers 
were  never  allowed  to  rest  upon. 

Wilson  knew  what  he  wanted.  Whoever  heard  of  a 
fairy  princess  who  had  not  a  cloak  of  ermine  ?  His  poor 
little  princess  had  only  a  cheap  wrap,  a  mixture  of  wool 
and  cotton,  altogether  out  of  keeping  with  her  position. 

He  was  in  a  reckless  mood,  begotten  of  the  taste  of 
Desiree's  lips,  and  the  thought  of  the  sight  that  was  so 
soon  to  be  hers.  He  intended  to  have  what  he  wanted,  no 
matter  what  it  cost. 

Before  long  the  coveted  garment  was  spread  before 
him — a  cloak  of  white  fur,  glossy  as  silk,  soft  as  velvet, 
all  lined  with  the  richest  of  white  silk,  with  a  fringe  of 
black-tipped  tails,  and  a  hood  that  would  draw  up  in  a 
most  fascinating  manner  about  a  small  face. 

When  the  cloak  was  packed  up  and  put  into  his  motor, 

194 


WILSON  MEETS  EASSINO  195 

he  went  to  a  florist's  shop  and  bought  roses — a  great 
bouquet  of  pale  pink  ones,  like  Desiree's  wistful  mouth; 
a  mouth  that  he  determined  should  be  neither  pale  nor 
wistful  once  the  final  dragon  was  slain,  but  smiling  and 
happy  and  coral  red,  as  a  young  girl's  should  be.  A 
bouquet,  too,  that  matched  a  new  evening  frock  Mrs. 
Green  had  started  to  talk  about  during  tea,  before  he  had 
mentioned  the  appointment  with  the  specialist  and  hope 
had  taken  thought  of  all  else  from  Desiree. 

With  his  two  purchases  he  returned  to  the  hotel. 

That  night  as  he  got  into  his  evening  clothes  he  scanned 
himself  critically,  wishing  he  looked  more  like  the  men 
in  Desiree's  own  set,  and  less  like  a  prize-fighter.  After- 
wards he  went  down  to  the  hall  and  awaited  the  girl's 
coming. 

Presently  one  of  the  chambermaids  brought  her  in. 
There  were  mostly  men  in  the  hall  just  then,  awaiting 
their  womenfolk.  Wilson  knew  that  none  of  their  wives 
and  daughters  and  sisters  could  be  compared  with  Desiree. 
And  the  men  seemed  to  know  it,  too,  for  they  all  stared 
at  her  with  open  or  covert  admiration,  according  to  their 
nationality. 

In  buying  a  frock  for  a  young  girl  Mrs.  Green  could 
be  trusted;  all  her  own  tastes  were  youthful,  and  at  a 
good  French  shop,  however  outre  the  style  might  be,  it 
would  not  be  common  or  vulgar. 

Desiree  was  wearing  a  quaint,  sack-like  garment  of 
pale  pink  silk,  stiff  with  quality,  with  a  low,  round  neck, 
and  little  straight  sleeves  about  three  inches  long — a  frock 
that  did  not  come  much  below  her  knees.  There  was  a 
fluff  of  white  swansdown  about  the  neck  and  sleeves  and 
hem.  Loose  and  low  about  her  waist  was  a  golden  girdle, 
and  she  wore  gold  shoes  and  stockings  to  match.  So 


196  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

attired,  she  looked  like  a  child  of  fourteen  who,  "for  fun," 
had  put  her  hair  up. 

The  moment  she  appeared  Wilson  went  forward,  the 
•  bouquet  in  one  hand,  the  ermine  cloak  over  his  arm.  He 
did  not  feel  awkward,  ladened  with  flowers  and  costly 
furs;  he  never  felt  awkward  when  doing  anything  for 
Desiree.  It  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world, 
this  which  he  had  spent  his  life  in  waiting  for.  Nor  did 
the  array  of  eyes  turned  on  him  and  the  girl  unnerve 
him  in  any  way. 

He  put  the  bouquet  into  her  hands,  the  cloak  about 
her  shoulders,  and  she  smiled  at  him,  a  shy,  worshiping 
smile  such  as  one  might  give  to  a  kindly  and  condescend- 
iag  god. 

"How  nice  these  smell,"  she  said,  burying  her  face  in 
the  roses.  "And  how  nice  this  feels,"  she  went  on,  finger- 
ing the  cloak.  "What  is  it?" 

"Ermine,"  he  answered,  watching  her  fondly. 

JHis  fairy  princess  had  no  idea  how  beautiful  she  was, 
or  of  the  richness  of  her  garments,  or  that  all  the  eyes  in 
the  room  were  fixed  on  her. 

Then  he  did  something  that  made  the  assembly  stare 
still  more. 

Out  from  some  inner  pocket  he  drew  "The  Neckiace 
of  Tears,"  and  with  his  big  hands  clasped  it  about  her 
slender  throat. 

He  took  a  step  back  and  looked  at  her,  everything  and 
everybody  forgotten  except  Desiree  with  her  high-bred, 
fragile  beauty,  attired  in  the  richest  of  silk  and  ermine  and 
diamonds,  crowned  with  her  own  golden  hair. 

She  stood  before  him,  the  fairy  princess  of  his  boyhood 
days,  whom  he  had  carried  round  in  his  heart  and  loved 
and  worshiped,  who  had  comforted  him  and  been  kind 


WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO  197 

to  him  when  the  other  boys  had  made  sport  of  his  patched 
clothes  and  his  poverty.  The  last  dragon  was  all  but  slain, 
and  when  it  was  really  dead  they  would  marry  and  live 
happily  ever  after  in  the  old  castle  far  off  in  the  moun- 
tains. She  would  marry  him,  John  Wilson,  who  had 
come  from  nothing,  and  had  once  carried  stones  about  in 
his  pocket  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door.  She  would 
be  his,  this  lovely  girl,  Desiree,  Countess  de  Mailly. 

Then  he  drew  one  "rose-leaf"  hand  through  his  arm. 

"Come  along,  Princess,"  he  said  gayly. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  and  the  distance  betweea 
their  hotel  and  the  one  where  the  diner  dansant  was  taking 
place  was  so  short  that  by  mutual  consent  no  carriage  was 
taken. 

On  a  gently  rippling  sea  the  dusk  was  settling,  turning 
the  blue  water  into  pewter,  a  heaving  expanse  that 
stretched  away  to  the  pearly  gray  of  the  distant  horizon. 
The  remains  of  a  sunset  lingered  on  the  westward  hills — 
soft,  blurred  smears  of  gold  and  red  and  mauve  and 
orange,  that  were  reflected  faintly  on  the  heaving  water. 
In  a  jagged  semicircle  the  great  hills  stood  around  the 
wide  sweep  of  the  whispering  bay,  and  close  at  hand 
palms  shivered  and  sighed  faintly,  and  little  waves  broke 
and  whispered  on  gray  pebbles. 

As  Wilson  looked  at  this  earthly  paradise  he  knew  that 
he  had  always  loved  beauty,  and  that,  until  now,  very 
little  of  it  had  come  into  his  life.  Generally  speaking, 
money-making  is  not  a  pretty  occupation,  unless  con- 
nected with  the  arts,  but  since  the  world  must  go  round, 
somebody  must  do  the  unlovely  things. 

At  that  moment  he  was  glad  there  were  plenty  of  people 
who  were  blind;  not  blind  as  Desiree  was,  but  blind  to 
the  sordidness  of  their  lives  and  occupations.  He  had 


198  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

never  been  really  blind  to  the  sordidness  of  his  own.  As 
a  small  boy  he  had  resented  it  numbly ;  as  a  youth  he  had 
realized  that  it  had  to  be  endured ;  as  a  man  he  had  tried 
to  glaze  over  its  ugliness  with  a  sheen  of  gold.  But  now 
it  was  all  behind  him,  the  poverty  and  the  ugliness.  He 
had  worked  hard  and  kept  straight,  and  the  fairy  princess 
had  been  his  talisman  against  temptation — an  ideal  that, 
unlike  most  ideals,  had  eventually  taken  form.  Now  he 
was  going  to  have  his  reward — this  peaceful,  fruitful, 
beautiful  land  that  must  have  been  the  Garden  of  Eden 
and — Desiree.  The  girl  Eve  fresh  from  her  Maker 
could  not  have  been  more  lovely,  more  innocent,  more 
desirable,  than  the  child  he  hoped  to  marry. 

Thus  Wilson's  thoughts  ran  as  he  walked  to  the  neigh- 
boring hotel  with  Desiree  on  his  arm.  In  spite  of  the 
blissful  realms  in  which  he  moved,  he  was  all  attention 
for  his  companion,  seeing  that  the  little  feet  in  their  golden 
shoes  did  not  halt  or  stumble. 

If  people  had  stared  at  them  in  their  own  hotel,  they 
stared  still  more  in  the  one  Wilson  entered. 

During  dinner,  infatuated  as  he  was,  and  accustomed 
by  now  to  the  stares  that  always  followed  his  companion, 
Wilson  could  not  help  noticing  that  a  man  seated  at  the 
far  end  of  the  big  room  stared  more  blatantly  than  any 
of  the  others.  He  not  only  stared,  but  once  or  twice  he 
got  up  and  looked  at  Desiree  as  if  he  could  not  credit 
what  he  saw. 

No  wonder  Bassino  looked  at  the  Countess  de  Mailly 
and  could  not  believe  his  eyes. 

When  he  knew  her  she  was  in  shabby,  cheap  garments, 
in  the  back  sitting-room  of  a  third-rate  New  York  lodg- 
ing house;  a  trembling,  shrinking  girl  who,  in  spite  of 
her  poverty,  refused  to  take  the  costly  presents  he  would 


WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO  199 

have  poured  on  her ;  a  wistful,  furtive  shadow  of  a  girl, 
who  had  tried  to  escape  from  the  room  every  time  he 
came,  who  had  fainted  when  he  kissed  her. 

Now  she  was  attired  like  a  princess,  the  best-dressed 
woman  in  the  room  with  a  diamond  necklace  worth  a 
fortune  round  her  neck,  and  on  the  chair  beside  her  an 
ermine  cloak  fit  for  a  queen.  And  she  was  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  for  happiness  had  given  life  and  color  to  her 
face. 

As  Bassino  watched  the  couple  with  the  sharp  eyes  of 
jealousy,  he  knew  it  must  be  Desiree.  There  could  not 
be  two  girls  so  alike  and  yet  similarly  afflicted.  And  he 
saw  the  man  unobtrusively  help  and  assist  her  in  a  variety 
of  little  ways  that  he  would  not  have  done  had  she  been 
quite  normal. 

Noticing  the  gross,  sensual-looking  man's  continual 
scrutiny,  Wilson  moved  himself  slightly,  so  that  his 
broad  figure  came  between  Desiree  and  those  covetous, 
bloodshot  eyes.  Although  she  could  not  see  the  swarthy 
foreigner,  instinctively  Wilson  knew  she  would  resent  the 
admiration  of  such  a  man.  Then,  intent  on  seeing  to  her 
needs,  he  forgot  all  about  the  episode. 

When  dessert  was  over,  and  the  coming  of  coffee  and 
liqueurs  brought  some  of  the  diners  to  their  feet,  Bassino 
bore  down  in  the  direction  of  his  fiancee. 

As  Wilson  sat  trying  to  instruct  Desiree  in  the  art  of 
cigarette  smoking,  all  at  once  a  thick  voice  said  with 
savage  jealousy  and  a  strong  American  accent: 

"What  are  you  doing  here  alone  with  this  man, 
Desiree  ?" 

The  voice  brought  a  little  cry  of  fear  to  her  lips,  and 
the  cigarette  fell  from  her  fingers. 

Wilson  looked  round  quickly. 


200  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Standing  just  beside  him  was  the  swarthy,  bloated 
man  he  had  noticed  earlier  in  the  evening.  Unexpected 
as  the  situation  was,  he  grasped  it. 

He  was  face  to  face  with  the  ogre.  This  was  the  man 
her  uncle  would  force  on  her — this  gross,  dissipated  brute. 
He  became  almost  sick  at  the  thought  of  those  coarse, 
sensual  lips  having  rested  on  Desiree's. 

"Anything  you  have  to  say,  Mr.  Bassino,  kindly  say 
it  to  me,"  he  put  in  quickly. 

"You !  What  the  hell  have  you  to  do  with  it  ?"  Baasino 
asked  savagely. 

"I'm  looking  after  the  Countess  de  Mailly  at  present," 
Wilson  answered  quietly. 

"Looking  after  the  Countess  de  Mailly!  It's  my  busi- 
ness to  look  after  her,  not  yours.  S acre  I  Don't  you 
know  the  Countess  is  my  fiancee?" 

"I  heard  her  uncle  was  trying  to  force  her  to  marry 
you." 

"Force!  Nonsense!  A  French  girl  has  got  to  marry 
the  man  her  guardian  chooses  for  her,"  Bassino  replied, 
with  an  air  of  holding  himself  in. 

"In  England  we  go  by  what  the  girl  says,"  Wilaom  an- 
swered. 

He  paused,  eyeing  the  child's  frightened  face  tenderly. 

"What  do  you  say,  Desiree?  Do  you  want  to  «arry 
Mr.  Bassino?" 

"No,  no !"  she  whispered,  terror  in  her  voice. 

"There  you  are,"  Wilson  said,  "you're  had  your 
answer." 

Bassino's  swarthy  face  turned  purple.  He  saw  the  in- 
nocence and  beauty  he  coveted  slipping  from  him. 

"Desiree!  You  call  her  Desiree?  My  affianced  wife! 
I  refuse  to  let  her  go.  She  must  come  with  me  at  once." 


WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO  201 

His  voice,  suddenly  raised,  brought  the  attention  of 
the  people  at  the  adjacent  tables  in  their  direction. 

"Be  quiet,  can't  you?"  Wilson  said  with  cold  impa- 
tience. "You've  heard  what  the  Countess  has  to  say. 
Go  away,  and  don't  make  a  row." 

To  be  dismissed  in  this  casual  manner  infuriated  Bas- 
sino  still  further. 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?  I'm  a  millionaire,"  he 
shouted,  as  if  that  fact  made  him  all-powerful. 

When  he  liked,  Wilson  could  be  quietly  offensive.  Just 
now  he  not  only  liked,  but  wanted  to  be;  he  loathed  the 
coarse  brute  who  had  dared  to  aspire  to  Desiree. 

"Well,  I  daresay  it's  not  so  much  your  fault  as  the  fault 
of  an  easily  gulled  and  misguided  public,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  moment  or  two  before  Bassino  grasped  all 
that  lay  within  Wilson's  reply.  When  he  did,  he  posi- 
tively danced  with  rage. 

"You  darned  thief!"  he  raved.  "You  dare  insult  me 
as  well  as  steal  my  girl." 

He  made  as  if  to  drag  Desiree  away  there  and  then,  but 
with  a  quick  upward  jerk  of  his  arms  Wilson  knocked 
aside  his  hands. 

"Be  quiet,"  he  said  again,  for  by  now  the  Brazilian's 
noise  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  room. 
"Whatever  you  have  to  say,  come  round  and  say  it  at 
my  hotel  to-morrow,  not  here,  in  a  public  room,  before 
this  lady." 

To-morrow  Desiree  would  be  in  a  nursing  home,  and 
Bassino  could  rave  as  much  as  he  liked  and  she  would 
not  be  there  to  hear  him. 

"I  shall  have  the  girl,"  Bassino  shouted,  beside  himself 
with  rage  and  passion.  "I  tell  you  she's  mine.  I  paid  her 
guardian  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  her." 


202  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Then  Wilson  got  to  his  feet,  suddenly  savage  at  the 
commotion  Bassino  was  making,  and  the  undesired  at- 
tention he  was  drawing  to  Desiree. 

With  clenched  fist  he  turned  on  the  Brazilian. 

"If  you  don't  shut  up,  I'll  shove  your  yellow  teeth 
down  your  throat,"  he  said.  "Shouting  your  back-stair 
slave-dealings  for  all  the  room  to  hear !" 

"Hear!  Hear!"  several  voices  said,  sotto  voce,  in 
English. 

"The  Countess  is  going  to  marry  whom  she  likes," 
Wilson  went  on,  "not  any  wealthy  scum  her  uncle  thinks 
well  to  shove  on  her.  I'm  her  guardian  now.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

•Before  that  clenched  fist  Bassino  retreated,  spluttering 
and  raging.  "I  shall  go  to  her  uncle.  I  refuse  to  give  her 
up,"  he  screamed  from  a  safe  distance. 

Wilson  turned  to  Desiree,  who  sat  white- faced  and 
trembling  behind  him. 

He  had  a  feeling  that  the  Brazilian  would  follow  them 
round  all  the  evening,  cursing  and  raging,  half-mad  at 
the  thought  of  the  girl  he  saw  slipping  from  him. 

"Desiree,  I  think  we'd  better  go,"  he  said. 

At  once  she  was  on  her  feet. 

Picking  up  her  cloak  and  flowers,  Wilson  drew  her 
hand  on  to  his  arm,  and  started  down  the  room,  Bassino 
following.  But  he  did  not  follow  far.  The  men  who 
had  quietly  applauded  Wilson's  action  got  up  from  their 
tables  and  unobtrusively  impeded  the  Brazilian's  way. 
Wilson  and  his  charge  were  out  of  the  door  before 
Bassino  was  half-way  down  the  room,  and  when  the  latter 
reached  the  door  a  little  group  of  men  had  gathered  there, 
who  ignored  him  when  he  asked  to  pass. 


WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO  203 

Once  safely  out  of  the  hotel,  Desiree  relaxed  her  clutch 
on  Wilson's  arm. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  get  away  from  that  man,"  she  said  with 
relief.  "I'm  so  afraid  of  him.  However  can  I  thank 
you?" 

"You  can  thank  me  best  by  not  worrying  any  more 
about  him,"  Wilson  replied. 

Outside,  all  was  peace  and  moonlight.  The  sea  was  a 
heaving  sheet  of  silver.  The  white  light  from  above 
crowned  the  palm  trees  as  if  with  snow.  The  vague  hills 
and  the  bay  were  wrapped  in  a  luminous  veil  of  misty, 
milky  blue.  High  above,  in  the  deep,  dark  vault  of  a 
star-strewn  sky,  the  moon  soared,  a  mass  of  burning 
silver. 

"Shall  we  have  a  little  walk  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  should  love  to.  It's  so  quiet  and  cool  here  by  the 
sea." 

For  some  minutes  the  walk  went  on  in  silence,  to  the 
music  of  molten  waves  that  broke  on  pebbles  which  the 
moon  had  turned  into  ingots  of  silver. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Desiree?"  he  asked 
presently. 

Two  little  hands  were  on  Wilson's  sleeve  instead  of 
one,  clasping  his  arm  with  a  gentle,  clinging  pressure,  and 
a  small,  thin  face  was  turned  on  him,  radiant  with  hope 
and  happiness. 

"To-morrow  it  will  be  light,"  she  said. 

"Perhaps  not  quite  to-morrow,  my  little  girl.  They're 
sure  to  keep  your  eyes  bandaged  up  for  a  week  or  two." 

He  paused,  regarding  her  tenderly,  wondering  what 
hopes  and  desires,  what  conception  of  things,  lived  in  her 
dark,  untaught  world. 


204  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"What's  the  first  thing  you'd  like  to  see,  Princess?"  he 
asked. 

"You,"  she  said,  without  hesitation. 

"Why?"  he  asked  gently. 

"  'God  said,  let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  Kght/  " 
she  whispered. 

The  answer  left  him  silent. 

For  the  first  time  he  realized  that  she  had  never  seen 
him,  a  fact  he  had  not  paused  to  consider  before.  And 
now  the  thought  sent  a  cold  chill  through  him. 

What  would  she  think  of  him  when  she  saw  him — 
when  he  was  something  more  than  "a  vague  shadow  in 
a  thick  mist"  ?  Those  whispered  words  of  hers  suggested 
some  heroic  figure. 

Wilson  knew  he  was  not  handsome.  At  that  moment 
the  image  he  conjured  up  of  himself  was  a  libel. 

When  those  beautiful  eyes  could  see,  they  would  see 
him  as  he  really  was — his  ugly  face,  his  clumsy  figure, 
his  great,  chipped  hands.  The  mere  sight  of  him  might 
sweep  away  all  her  liking. 

What  a  hopeless  blank  life  would  be  without  those 
little  hands  to  touch  him,  without  that  small  face  turned 
on  him  with  trust  and  affection. 

In  the  moonlight,  with  strained,  hungry  eyes,  Wilson 
watched  his  companion. 

Then  a  great  temptation  suddenly  beset  him. 

She  was  so  easily  deceived,  so  utterly  helpless. 

He  could  find  an  excuse  for  not  taking  her  to  the 
specialist  the  next  day.  He  could  pretend  he  was  going 
to  another.  It  would  be  easy  work  to  bribe  a  man  into 
doing  a  mock  operation.  Then  a  few  weeks  of  bandaged 
eyes  and  afterwards — still  darkness. 

As  Wilson  walked  along  with  Desiree  on  one  side  of 


WILSON  MEETS  BASSINO  205 

him,  the  devil  walked  on  the  other  and  whispered  in  his 
ear,  telling  him  of  all  ke  might  lose  if  he  did  the  right 
thing. 

In  the  white  moonlight,  to  the  murmur  of  the  silvered 
sea,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  girl,  Wilson  fought  against 
temptation,  desire,  and  fear — fear  that  Desiree  might 
turn  from  him  when  she  saw  him. 

If  he  kept  her  in  darkness  he  could  not  stay  in  Nice  for 
fear  his  sins  should  find  him  out  He  would  take  her  to 
England,  to  his  own  town.  In  the  best  suburb  there  he 
had  a  pleasant  house,  with  an  efficient  staff  of  servants. 
He  would  have  a  winter  garden  built  for  her  that  held  all 
the  flowers  of  her  own  fragrant,  sunny  land,  and  when 
the  days  were  dull  and  wet  she  could  wander  in  it.  And 
he  would  have  a  music  room  fitted  up  for  her,  and  she 
should  have  the  best  teachers,  and  every  luxury  and  com- 
fort that  he  could  think  of. 

Every  morning  he  would  set  off  to  business  with  her 
kisses  on  his  lips ;  each  lunch  time  she  would  come  down 
the  front  steps  to  meet  him,  in  her  timid  hesitant  way, 
brought  there  by  the  hoot  of  his  motor  in  the  drive.  And 
again  in  the  evening — his  helpless,  cherished  little  wife, 
who  waited  for  his  comings,  who  had  no  life  outside  of 
him. 

He  would  take  her  to  dances  and  concerts.  She  would 
have  a  real  good  time.  And  people  would  say: 

''There's  John  Wilson  and  his  beautiful  wife,  the 
French  countess.  She's  blind." 

But  they  would  not  add,  "Poor  child,"  for  when  she 
was  with  him  there  would  be  happiness  on  her  face.  He 
would  see  to  that,  even  if  he  had  to  commit  a  dastardly 
crime  in  order  to  keep  her. 

And  there  would  be  blissful  evenings  when  they  were 


206  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

quite  alone  together,  when  he  read  to  her,  and  she  played 
to  him.  And  he  would  carry  her  upstairs  in  his  arms, 
and  each  night  hold  her  pressed  close  against  his  heart, 
and  each  day  work  hard  so  that  she  could  have  everything 
she  wanted — everything  except  the  one  great  gift  of  sight, 
and  that  he  would  deliberately  hold  back  from  her,  lest 
in  giving  it  her  love  should  be  swept  away  from  him. 
The  act  of  a  coward  and  a  scoundrel ! 

If  he  kept  her  in  darkness  he  would  be  as  big  a  fiend 
as  her  uncle — worse  even — the  vilest  of  brutes,  caring  for 
nothing  so  long  as  he  gained  possession  of  her  body. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE  OPERATION 

The  next  day  was  an  anxious  one  for  Wilson.  At 
eleven  o'clock  he  drove  Desiree  round  to  the  nursing 
home.  There  he  left  her,  knowing  there  would  be  very 
little  likelihood  of  seeing  her  before  the  following  morn- 
ing. 

The  operation  was  to  take  place  that  afternoon. 

After  lunch  he  fidgeted  round  the  hotel  vestibule,  and 
in  and  out  of  the  great  hall,  staring  aimlessly  into  the 
little  shop  windows  surrounding  it,  and  in  a  fever  of 
anxiety  awaited  a  telephone  message  from  the  specialist. 

At  about  five  o'clock  one  reached  him,  saying  every- 
thing was  satisfactory.  He  asked  when  he  might  see  the 
patient,  and  was  told  that  no  visitors  would  be  allowed 
before  the  next  afternoon. 

At  four  the  following  day  Wilson  was  at  the  nursing 
home.  He  was  shown  into  a  big,  dim  room,  where  the 
doctor  greeted  him,  and  a  white-clad  nurse  hovered  over 
a  bed  in  the  darkest  corner. 

"The  anaesthetic  has  tried  our  patient  severely,"  the 
doctor  commented.  "She's  in  a  very  poor  state  of  health 
— almost  as  if  she'd  been  half -starved  and  utterly  neg- 
lected all  her  life,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  Wilson  as  if 
hoping  for  some  light  on  the  matter.  "But  with  care  and 
attention  she'll  soon  be  as  healthy  and  strong  as  you  could 
expect  a  girl  of  her  rather  over-bred,  nervous  type  to  be." 

207 


2o8  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

There  was  a  note  in  the  doctor's  voice  that  suggested 
he,  himself,  would  have  preferred  some  one  more  robust 
and  less  blue-blooded.  Wilson  resented  the  tone.  It 
cast  a  slur  on  his  princess.  He  felt  like  saying  his  own 
blood  was  red  enough  and  his  own  health  robust  enough 
to  satisfy  anybody,  and  that,  between  them,  he  and 
Desiree  would  about  strike  an  average.  But  a  soft  little 
voice  said  "Mon  ami,"  with  an  eager  note  of  welcome,  and 
then  he  had  thoughts  for  nothing  else. 

Accustomed  now  to  the  gloom,  Wilson  crossed  to  the 
bed. 

Limp  and  white  among  a  fluff  of  soft  pillows  Desiree 
lay,  her  eyes  bandaged,  a  long  golden  plait  on  either  side 
of  her  thin  face,  her  hands  lying  weak  as  a  baby's  on  the 
coverlet. 

All  afternoon  she  had  been  waiting  for  his  voice — the 
voice  of  the  god  who  had  invaded  her  darkness,  dispelling 
the  terrors  that  beset  her,  bringing  with  him  the  gift  of 
light. 

High-born  and  fastidious,  she  wanted  no  man's  love, 
no  man's  kisses,  except  those  of  the  one  she  was  pleased 
to  bow  her  head  before  and  call  "master." 

She  waited,  submissive,  hoping  the  god  would  kiss  her, 
as  he  had  once  done — the  tender,  passionate  caress  that 
thrilled  and  frightened  her,  yet  left  her  wanting  to  feel 
the  pressure  of  his  lips  again. 

But  no  kiss  was  given. 

Instead,  there  was  the  light,  careful  touch  of  his  finger 
on  her  cheek  and  his  kind  voice  said : 

"Well,  Desiree?" 

She  smiled  at  him  shyly.  Then  she  took  the  hand  that 
caressed  her  and  pressed  it  on  her  heart,  since  he  had 


THE  OPERATION  209 

said  she  must  not  kiss  it,  holding  it  there  with  her  own 
two  hands. 

Wilson  did  not  stop  her.  He  kept  on  looking  down  at 
her,  feeling  the  throb  of  her  heart  beneath  his  hand — the 
heart  of  his  abject  slave,  had  he  but  known  it,  overflowing 
with  gratitude,  tender,  passionate,  and  true. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  time,  two  or  three  weeks  hence, 
when  those  bandaged  eyes  would  rest  on  him  full  of 
sight,  when  he  would  be  something  more  than  a  shadow. 

Then  his  imagination  got  to  work  again,  as  it  used  to 
in  years  gone  by,  when  he  was  a  small,  shabby  boy  and 
he  and  the  princess  were  all  in  all  to  one  another. 

If  only  the  fairy  tale  would  come  true!  If  only  she 
would  stoop  to  love  him,  once  she  had  seen  him!  Then 
one  day  he  might  come  to  her  as  she  lay  weak  and  white 
in  bed.  There  would  be  no  bandage  on  her  eyes  then.  It 
would  not  be  his  hand  she  nursed  on  her  breast,  but  a 
tiny  morsel  of  humanity,  with  a  fluffy  head — their  first- 
born— and  she  would  say : 

"Oh,  look,  John !"  in  a  weak,  excited  voice,  full  of  sur- 
prise and  delight  at  the  miracle  they  had  accomplished 
between  them. 

Strong  man  as  he  was,  the  thought  set  him  trembling. 
In  an  anxious,  longing  manner  he  watched  her — the  girl 
he  loved,  who  had  never  seen  him. 

As  Wilson  stood  there  worrying  about  his  personal 
appearance,  and  lack  of  breeding,  looking  at  the  two 
little  hands  that  held  one  of  his  pressed  against  a  soft, 
warm  breast,  it  did  not  strike  him  to  consider  that  if 
Desiree  had  had  eyes  to  see  with  when  they  first  met,  he 
might  have  had  no  chance  at  all.  Had  she  even  deigned 
to  look  in  his  direction,  in  all  probability  she  would  hare 
seen  only  a  short,  thickset,  commonplace  man  who  was 


210  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

wildly  infatuated  with  herself,  who  put  himself  in  her 
way  on  every  possible  occasion,  and  whose  attentions  she 
would  have  resented.  She  might  never  have  known  the 
real  John  Wilson,  the  honest,  upright,  just,  and  kindly 
man  that  lived  beneath  the  plain  exterior. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
MACHINATIONS 

That  evening,  when  Wilson  went  into  the  dining-room 
of  his  hotel,  among  the  people  assembled  there  he  saw 
Eugene  de  Gilbert.  Wondering  what  the  latter  wanted, 
Wilson  watched  him.  He  had  no  fears  on  Desiree's  ac- 
count. Where  she  was  concerned  he  had  taken  every 
precaution.  At  the  nursing  home  he  had  given  instruc- 
tions that  no  one,  no  matter  what  relationship  he  might 
claim  to  the  patient,  was  to  be  admitted  to  see  her.  Wolf 
now  lived  at  the  home,  sleeping  every  night  in  Desiree's 
room,  and  day  and  night  Wilson  paid  private  detectives 
to  watch  the  place,  so  that  there  was  no  fear  of  her  being 
kidnaped,  for  he  had  a  feeling  that  the  Gilberts  would 
not  rest  until  they  had  either  the  girl  or  the  necklace. 
And  as  Desiree  was  what  Wilson  set  most  store  on,  he 
thought  more  about  her  safety  than  about  that  of  her 
heirloom. 

After  dinner,  as  he  sat  in  the  big  hall,  he  noticed 
Eugene  was  still  in  the  hotel.  However,  the  latter  made 
no  attempt  to  speak,  ignoring  Wilson  as  completely  as 
though  he  had  never  met  him. 

The  previous  day  Wilson  had  had  a  further  round  with 
Bassino,  who  had  come  to  the  hotel  hot  on  Desiree's  trail, 
only  to  find  her  gone.  Wilson  had  threatened  to  horse- 
whip him  if  he  dared  as  much  as  speak  to  her  again,  and 
Bassino  had  retired,  but  whether  for  good  it  was  as  yet 
impossible  to  say. 

211 


212  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

At  first  Wilson  connected  Eugene's  presence  with  the 
Brazilian,  deeming  him  some  emissary  from  the  latter. 
But  as  the  evening  passed  without  Eugene  addressing 
him,  Wilson  put  the  idea  out  of  his  head. 

But  if  Eugene  de  Gilbert  did  not  claim  Wilson's  ac- 
quaintance in  any  way,  he  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  his  doings, 
especially  in  the  dining-room,  and  particularly  on  the 
bottle  of  wine  he  drank. 

Generally  speaking,  W'ilson  had  a  small  bottle  of  Bur- 
gundy with  his  lunch  and  another  with  his  dinner.  This 
methodical  little  habit  of  his  Eugene  silently  cursed.  He 
wished  Wilson  would  leave  half  his  luncheon  wine  to  be 
carried  over  to  dinner.  He  had  an  excellent  reason  for 
wishing  this. 

Before  Eugene  had  been  twenty-four  hours  in  the  hotel 
he  had  discovered  where  Wilson's  room  was,  and  he  had 
learned  that  the  Englishman  always  slept  with  his  door 
locked. 

For  a  week  Eugene  lived  at  the  big  hotel,  spending 
money  he  could  ill  afford,  at  each  lunch  watching  Wilson 
as  a  hungry  spider  watches  a  fly  hovering  just  beyond 
its  web. 

Assured  of  Desiree's  safety,  Wilson  did  not  trouble 
himself  much  about  Eugene.  The  way  he  had  out- 
maneuvered  the  Gilberts,  perhaps,  had  left  him  a  trifle 
swollen-headed  where  they  were  concerned. 

Haunted  by  the  thought  of  what  might  happen  wben 
Desiree  saw  him,  Wilson  was  at  the  nursing  home  as 
often  as  he  was  allowed  there.  Every  afternoon  was 
spent  with  the  girl,  reading  and  talking  to  her ;  a  Desiree 
no  longer  in  bed,  but  sitting  up  with  bandaged  eyes.  He 
brought  her  every  sort  of  expensive  fruit  and  flower, 
trying  to  bind  her  closer  to  him  before  the  bandages  were 


MACHINATIONS  213 

removed.  He  gave  her  everything  he  could  think  of  in 
the  way  of  costly  little  trifles — everything  except  the  one 
thing  she  wanted,  the  pressure  of  his  lips  on  hers. 

Eugene  de  Gilbert  had  been  eight  days  in  the  hotel 
before  the  opportunity  he  was  waiting  for  arrived. 

Then  one  day  at  lunch  Wilson  drank  only  half  his  wine. 
When  the  meal  was  over,  in  an  abstracted  manner  he 
corked  up  the  bottle.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  events 
it  would  appear  at  dinner. 

Eugene  watched  his  doings  with  covert  eagerness. 
After  Wilson  had  left  the  dining-room  Eugene  sat  with 
his  eyes  on  the  half-empty  bottle,  as  if  all  his  hopes  were 
centered  on  it. 

When  all  the  other  guests  had  gone  he  still  lingered 
at  his  table,  with  coffee  and  liqueur  at  his  elbow,  smoking 
a  cigarette  as  with  pencil  and  paper  he  appeared  to  be 
working  out  some  system  for  breaking  the  bank  at  Monte 
Carlo,  an  occupation  the  waiters  understood  and  re- 
spected. One  by  one  they  vanished  also,  until  the  only 
people  in  the  big  room  were  Eugene  and  the  waiter  who 
attended  to  his  table. 

Then  he  looked  up  suddenly  from  his  engrossing 
occupation. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  addressing  the  waiter,  "am  I  the  last  ? 
Don't  wait  if  you  want  your  lunch,"  he  went  on  casually. 
"I  shan't  want  anything  else  except  peace  and  quiet  to 
work  out  my  system." 

The  man  turned  away.  Eugene  waited  until  he  was 
safely  out  of  the  room,  then  he  got  up  and  went  over 
to  Wilson's  table. 

Quickly  he  uncorked  the  bottle,  dropped  a  few  tablets 
into  the  wine,  and  corked  it  up  again.  Then,  drinking  off 
his  coffee  and  liqueur,  he  strolled  leisurely  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  THEFT 

That  night  the  Count  de  Gilbert  dined  with  his  son. 
He  ate  very  little  of  the  elaborate  dinner  spread  before 
him.  Every  now  and  again  he  glanced  surreptitiously 
in  Wilson's  direction,  anxiety  on  his  face  when  the  other 
first  tasted  his  wine,  relief  when  he  saw  the  bottle  empty. 

When  the  meal  was  over  they  both  followed  Wilson 
into  the  hall,  and  sat  watching  him  stealthily. 

The  drug  was  not  one  that  worked  quickly.  It  took 
hold  of  its  victim  slowly,  insidiously.  As  the  evening 
wore  on,  Wilson  was  conscious  of  feeling  drowsy,  but 
he  paid  no  heed  to  the  matter.  Since  Desiree  had  come 
into  his  life  he  had  had  quite  a  few  sleepless  nights, 
especially  latterly,  and  had  he  given  any  thought  to  the 
matter  he  would  have  put  down  his  drowsiness  to  lack 
of  sleep.  But  he  was  thinking  that  in  a  week's  time 
Desiree's  eyes  would  be  uncovered,  and  in  the  dim  light 
of  a  shaded  room  he  would  have  to  meet  her  face  to  face. 
If  she  shrank  from  him,  then  all  joy  and  sweetness  would 
vanish  from  his  life.  He  tried  not  to  let  his  mind  dwell 
on  the  matter,  but  to  think  instead  of  the  warm  welcome 
that  was  always  his  lot;  of  the  fact  that  his  gifts  were 
never  refused,  but  always  thanked  for  in  a  soft,  grateful 
voice. 

Perhaps  an  hour  earlier  than  usual  Wilson  made  his 
way  to  the  lift,  stifling  a  yawn  as  he  went,  unaware  of 
the  two  pairs  of  eyes  that  were  watching  him  so  intently. 

214 


THE  THEFT  215 

Once  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  bedroom,  he  yawned 
more  freely.  But,  sleepy  and  tired  as  he  was  feeling,  he 
did  not  forget  to  slip  "The  Necklace  of  Tears"  under  his 
pillow.  Nor  did  he  forget  to  press  his  lips  to  the  ragged 
remains  of  a  carnation  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket- 
book,  the  flower  Desiree  had  given  him  that  first  morning 
in  the  ruined  castle. 

Then  he  got  into  bed  and  switched  off  the  light,  not 
to  toss  on  the  necklace  until  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing, as  he  usually  did,  but  to  fall  sound  asleep  almost 
immediately. 

Down  in  the  hall  the  Gilberts  waited. 

Once  Wilson  had  left  the  place  a  strained  expression 
crept  through  the  usually  debonair  look  on  both  their 
faces. 

Espying  Eugene,  Mrs.  Green  bore  down  on  him.  He 
was  not  in  a  flirtatious  mood  that  evening,  but  he  remem- 
bered his  pose  sufficiently  to  say: 

"Have  you  had  the  luck  to  hear  anything  of  your 
bracelet?" 

The  question  made  his  father  fidget. 

Finding  them  both  distrait  and  self-absorbed,  Mrs. 
Green  went  off  in  search  of  more  amusing  companions, 
thinking  to  herself  that  Eugene  de  Gilbert  was  very  "off 
song"  that  evening.  She  had  accosted  him  several  times 
during  his  stay  in  the  hotel;  although  he  never  openly 
avoided  her,  he  dodged  her  as  much  as  possible.  Once 
or  twice  she  had  mentioned  the  Countess  de  Mailly,  the 
beautiful  and  charming  girl  of  whom  she  had  had  charge 
for  a  couple  of  days.  She  told  him  about  the  successful 
operation.  And  she  wondered  how  the  girl  came  to  be 
stranded  there,  and  how  John  Wilson  had  come  to  have 
charge  of  her. 


216  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Eugene  listened  to  all  she  had  to  say,  but  he  never 
claimed  any  relationship  to  Desiree. 

•But  of  the  two  things  in  Wilson's  possession,  he  had 
quickly  come  to  see  it  would  be  much  easier  to  get  hold 
of  the  necklace  than  the  girl. 

About  an  hour  after  Wilson  had  retired  Eugene  looked 
at  his  father. 

"I  think  we  might  set  to  work  now,"  he  said,  rising. 

The  Count  said  nothing  at  all.  He  rose  also,  and  in 
his  son's  wake  made  towards  the  lift.  But  his  steps 
dragged ;  he  walked  in  a  feeble,  decrepit  manner,  as  if  he 
suddenly  had  grown  old. 

Taking  the  lift,  they  gave  the  number  of  Eugene's 
room.  Once  there,  as  soon  as  the  lift  had  descended,  they 
made  their  way  towards  the  staircase,  down  a  couple  of 
flights,  and  on  to  the  floor  where  Wilson's  quarters  were 
situated. 

The  bedroom  door  was  of  the  automatic-locking  kind, 
which  is  unlocked  on  entering,  and  which  locks  itself  on 
being  closed,  to  be  opened  again  without  any  trouble  by 
a  handle  on  the  inside. 

When  they  reached  Wilson's  room,  Eugene  produced 
a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys.  Whilst  his  father  kept  watch, 
he  stealthily  tried  one  after  the  other  in  the  lock.  The 
corridor  was  deserted.  It  was  the  hour  when  the  "early- 
to-beds"  had  already  retired,  and  the  night  birds  had  not 
yet  thought  of  going  to  their  rooms.  Should  anyone 
have  questioned  their  actions,  the  two  confederates  could 
have  said  they  were  knocking  at  a  friend's  door. 

Within  a  few  minutes  Eugene  had  found  a  key  to  fit ; 
then  they  both  slipped  into  the  room,  closing  the  door 
quietly  behind  them. 

Once  inside,  they  switched  on  the  light,  gave  a  sharp 


THE  THEFT  217 

glance  at  Wilson  sleeping  the  heavy  sleep  of  the  drugged, 
and  then  quietly  set  about  their  investigations. 

They  were  not  long  in  finding  the  necklace. 

Understanding  the  nature  of  the  man  with  whom  he 
was  dealing,  Eugene  had  a  good  idea  where  to  look  for 
any  possession  of  Desiree's  that  was  in  Wilson's  keeping. 

"We'll  look  under  his  pillow  first,"  he  whispered, 
making  straight  for  the  bed. 

With  a  stealthy  hand  he  felt  under  Wilson's  dark  head, 
and  drew  out  a  little  washleather  bag.  Opening  it,  he 
slipped  the  necklace  into  his  hand.  It  lay  there,  a  pool 
of  light,  winking  maliciously  at  the  covetous  eyes  that 
were  glued  on  it. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  Eugene  slipped  it  into  his  pocket, 
and  threw  the  washleather  bag  on  the  floor. 

Then  he  leant  over  the  bed  and  addressed  the  drugged 
man. 

"You're  welcome  to  Desiree,  Mr.  Wilson,  now  we  have 
the  necklace.  But  she  won't  like  you  so  well  when  she 
has  eyes  to  see  with.  She  is  fastidious,  my  little  cousin. 
You'll  lose  all  round  on  this  deal,  my  friend." 

So  saying,  he  turned  from  the  bed. 

Switching  off  the  electric  light,  they  opened  the  door 
an  inch  or  so,  and  stood  listening.  Then,  satisfied  there 
was  no  one  about,  they  slipped  out. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  ESCAPE 

The  Gilberts  had  their  plans  cut  and  dried.  Should 
the  necklace  fall  into  their  hands,  they  had  made  all 
arrangements  for  getting  off  with  it.  They  had  hired  a 
motor-boat.  Once  they  had  their  booty  their  one  idea 
was  to  get  away  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  with  the  least 
fuss.  They  had  arranged  to  go  to  Marseilles  by  water, 
to  catch  a  liner  to  America,  and  dispose  of  the  necklace 
there. 

Because  of  Desiree  they  knew  Wilson  would  not  make 
any  hue  and  cry,  lest  her  connection  with  "The  Triple 
Alliance"  should  come  to  light.  For  various  reasons  the 
duel  had  been  a  silent  one,  and  whoever  lost  had  to  take 
his  beating  in  silence. 

To  get  out  of  the  hotel  to  the  spot  where  their  craft 
was  anchored  was  only  a  matter  of  minutes.  Not  much 
more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  robbery  the 
throb  of  their  engine  was  stirring  the  echoes  of  the 
muffled  bay. 

Both  men  were  expert  drivers.  Once  aboard,  Eugene 
took  the  wheel.  His  eyes  were  the  younger  and  sharper. 
He  had  arranged  to  drive  until  daylight,  when  his  father 
would  relieve  him. 

They  had  no  sooner  started  than  the  old  Count  said  in 
a  thin,  quavering  voice: 

"The  necklace,  Eugene.     Let  me  see  it  again," 

218 


THE  ESCAPE  219 

Intent  on  escape,  it  had  not  been  out  of  the  younger 
man's  pocket  since  leaving  Wilson's  bedroom,  and  he  was 
as  anxious  as  his  father  to  see  the  fruit  of  their  schemings. 

He  drew  it  out,  scanning  it  in  the  Jjaint  starlight,  and 
it  flashed  and  wriggled  like  a  snake  of  fire  in  the  blue 
night. 

"With  care,  mon  pere,  it  should  last  us  for  the  rest  of 
our  lives.  But  we  must  avoid  Monte  Carlo,  or  it  may 
melt  as  quickly  as  Bassino's  fifty  thousand  dollars  did." 

Then  he  handed  it  to  his  father. 

The  old  man  took  it,  holding  it  in  crooked  miser  claws. 

"It's  more  than  thirty  years  since  I've  had  it  in  my 
hands,  Eugene.  Thirty  years.  And  all  that  time  it  has 
been  glittering  before  me." 

"Well,  it  won't  be  in  our  hands  much  more  than  thirty 
days,  I  hope." 

"You  will  sell  it?"  the  old  Count  cried,  a  stifled  note 
of  anguish  in  his  voice. 

"What  else  have  we  got  it  for?"  Eugene  enquired. 

His  father  cast  a  quick  glance  at  him,  full  of  hatred 
and  malice.  And  now  that  he  had  the  necklace  in  his 
hands,  he  crooned  over  it  like  a  man  over  his  best  beloved. 

"Oh,  you  beauty!  You  beauty!"  he  said  again  and 
again. 

And  in  the  thick  night  the  diamonds  flashed  like  some 
evil  light  hovering  over  the  boat. 

"You'd  better  put  the  thing  into  your  pocket  and  get 
some  sleep,"  Eugene  remarked  presently. 

With  a  stealthy,  furtive  glance  at  his  son,  the  old  Count 
curled  himself  up  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  But  he  did 
not  go  to  sleep.  He  lay  with  the  necklace  in  the  crook 
of  his  arm,  touching  it  and  stroking  it  tenderly  with 


220  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

skinny  old  fingers,  as  if  it  were  some  live  thing  that  he 
loved. 

Eugene  paid  no  heed  to  him.  All  his  attention  was 
needed  for  guiding  the  little  craft  through  the  muffled, 
misty  blueness  of  Mediterranean  night.  He  pressed  the 
boat  forward,  his  mind  not  dwelling  on  the  beauty  and 
perfection  of  the  necklace  but  on  all  he  would  do  with 
the  money  it  would  realize. 

The  night  wore  on,  a  night  of  blueness  and  stealthy 
lapping,  with  a  blaze  of  white  stars  overhead,  and  tiny 
yellow  dots  winking  on  the  distant  coast-line.  And  the 
throb  of  the  engine  drowned  the  old  Count's  voice  croon- 
ing to  his  treasure. 

The  hours  passed  one  by  one ;  then  into  the  soft  indigo 
of  the  night  there  came  a  faint  pink  tinge  that  rapidly 
grew  red,  as  the  rosy  lips  of  morning  yawned  over  a 
sleepy  earth.  The  indigo  grew  less  dense.  The  stars  lost 
their  light.  The  dark  veil  lifted  rapidly,  becoming  instead 
a  wreathing,  pearly  mist.  Great  shafts  of  orange,  car- 
mine, and  glowing  green  shot  suddenly  across  the  sky, 
turning  the  gray  mist  into  a  rainbow.  Then  over  the  rim 
of  the  world  the  sun  rose,  an  arc  of  gold. 
,  Eugene  greeted  it  with  a  wide  yawn.  Stretching  out 
his  foot,  he  touched  his  father. 

"Come,  mon  cher,  it's  your  turn,"  he  said. 

"Eugene,"  an  old  voice  whined,  "you  won't  sell  her, 
will  you?  She's  such  a  beauty." 

Eugene  laughed. 

"Why,  you're  as  bad  as  the  old  Count  de  Mailly,  living 
on  bread  and  radishes  and  keeping  a  fortune  to  look  at. 
No,  mon  pcre,  as  a  diet,  bread  and  radishes  don't  appeal 
to  me." 

The  elder  Gilbert  cast  a  stealthy,  malignant  glance  at 


THE  ESCAPE  221 

his  son.  However,  he  made  no  comment.  Putting  the 
necklace  into  his  pocket,  he  got  to  his  feet  to  take  his 
turn  at  the  wheel. 

When  his  father  was  settled,  Eugene  stretched  himself 
along  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  very  soon  was  sound 
asleep. 

Once  assured  his  son  was  sleeping,  the  old  Count  drew 
out  his  treasure  and  laid  it  on  the  seat  before  him.  He 
smiled  at  it  fondly,  and  then  glanced  at  the  recumbent 
form  of  his  son. 

"He  says  he  will  sell  you,  my  beauty,"  he  whispered. 
"But  will  he  ?  It's  not  like  selling  Desiree ;  she  was  only 
a  girl.  Only  wait.  I'll  save  you.  We  shall  not  be 
parted,  we  who  have  loved  so  truly  for  so  long.  Thirty 
years  since  we  first  met.  For  thirty  years  I've  lived  with 
your  image  before  me.  How  I've  planned  and  schemed 
to  possess  you !  What  if  one  girl's  eyes  were  kept  dark 
for  the  sake  of  the  light  in  yours.  And  now  he  would 
sell  you,  the  fiend !" 

With  skinny  fingers  he  caressed  the  necklace  again. 

"But  I  shan't  let  him,  my  beauty.  Trust  me.  I'll  save 
you." 

Letting  go  the  steering-wheel,  he  rubbed  his  hands 
together  in  an  ecstacy  of  mad  triumph  and  cunning. 

Then  he  leant  forward  and  opened  a  valve  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat. 

Eugene  was  sleeping  as  soundly  as  if  he  were  drugged, 
worn  out  with  his  night  at  the  wheel  and  the  tension 
of  the  evening. 

As  he  slept  he  dreamt  he  was  in  a  bath,  the  water 
creeping  gradually  upwards  and  upwards  until  it  was  in 
his  mouth. 


222  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

He  awoke,  choking  and  spluttering,  to  find  himself 
lying  in  a  boat  half  full  of  water — a  boat  that  was  gradu- 
ally settling  down  with  the  soft  stealthy  movement  of  a 
craft  about  to  sink. 

He  sat  up  quickly. 

Opposite,  a  horrible  old  figure  crouched,  its  mouth 
dribbling,  its  eyes  blazing  with  madness,  its  claw-like 
hands  holding  "The  Necklace  of  Tears,"  crooning  over  it, 
crying,  and  kissing  it. 

In  a  moment  Eugene  was  on  his  feet,  with  a  suddenness 
that  made  the  boat  sway  ominously.  He  had  grasped  the 
situation.  Delight  at  having  the  necklace  he  had  schemed 
for  and  coveted  so  many  years  had  turned  his  father's 
brain.  The  madman  had  opened  the  valve  at  the  bottom 
of  the  boat;  the  craft  was  sinking  rapidly,  and  the  coast 
ten  miles  away. 

With  a  quick  movement  Eugene  made  towards  the 
valve,  to  try  to  close  it.  Guessing  his  intention,  his  father 
fell  on  him,  wrestling  with  the  strength  of  madness  to 
keep  him  away  from  his  purpose. 

"You  shan't  do  it,"  he  screamed.  "I'll  drown  you 
rather  than  let  you  sell  her." 

In  the  struggle  Eugene  got  the  necklace,  but  he  did  not 
reach  the  valve.  Under  the  weight  of  water  and  their 
wrestling  the  boat  suddenly,  softly  subsided. 

For  a  few  moments  nothing  showed  on  the  misty,  milky 
blueness  of  the  sea  except  a  few  bubbles. 

Then  the  two  men  came  to  the  surface  fighting  like  cats. 

With  an  effort  the  younger  pushed  off  his  opponent, 
and  started  swimming  towards  the  distant  coast,  holding 
the  necklace  in  one  hand. 

With  a  slower  movement  his  father  followed. 

"Give  her  back  to  me,  Eugene.    Give  her  back  to  me," 


THE  ESCAPE  223 

he  screamed  again  and  again,  in  a  voice  that  as  the 
minutes  passed  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 

»But  farther  and  farther  ahead,  like  an  evil,  laughing 
thing  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  the  necklace  flashed  and 
glittered. 

There  was  a  last  faint,  imploring  cry,  a  gasp,  and  a 
gurgle,  and  the  Count  de  Gilbert  sank  to  rise  no  more. 
A  ray  of  sunshine  caught  the  necklace,  and  it  winked 
more  gayly,  more  wickedly  than  ever.  To  the  end  it  had 
eluded  the  man  who  loved  it  more  than  anything  else  on 
this  earth,  who  had  been  false  to  his  trust,  and  who  had 
done  worse  than  murder  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  possess  it. 

Heedless  of  his  father's  death,  Eugene  swam  on, 
towards  a  coast  that  seemed  to  get  ever  more  distant. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  clutched  the  necklace  as  a 
drowning  man  clutches  a  straw. 

Then  he  sank,  to  come  to  the  surface  again,  and  sink 
again,  to  appear  and  disappear,  and  finally  to  appear  no 
more. 

In  death  his  hands  relaxed.  Like  a  streak  of  evil  light 
the  necklace  sank,  gliding  swiftly  to  its  last  home  in  the 
depths  of  the  sea,  twinkling  maliciously  as  it  went. 

From  Eugene,  too,  it  had  taken  what  he  loved  the  best 
— his  wicked,  worthless  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
REALIZATION 

The  next  morning  Wilson  awoke  feeling  very  heavy 
about  the  head.  Yawning,  he  sat  up.  Then  his  yawn 
stopped  half  way,  and  he  stayed  with  his  gaze  fixed  on 
something  near  the  bed. 

Lying  on  the  floor,  limp  and  empty-looking,  was  the 
washleather  bag  in  which  he  always  carried  Desiree's 
heritage ! 

He  knew  he  had  put  it  under  his  pillow.  The  sight  of 
it  lying  there  on  the  floor  sent  a  chill  through  him.  He 
remembered  his  unusual  drowsiness  of  the  evening  before, 
and  the  fact  that  he  had  slept  through  the  night  without 
once  waking,  a  thing  he  had  not  done  since  Desiree  had 
come  into  his  life. 

Quickly  he  felt  under  his  pillow. 

The  necklace  was  gone! 

He  was  out  of  bed  in  a  moment  and  picking  up  the 
washleather  bag.  It  was  empty,  as  its  flat,  limp  appear- 
ance said  it  would  be.  In  a  frenzy  he  snatched  up  the 
pillows,  looking  in  and  under  them.  Then  he  felt  in  the 
pockets  of  his  dress  suit  which  lay  on  a  near-by  chair. 

His  investigations  all  told  the  same  story — a  story  he 
had  known  and  tried  not  to  believe  the  moment  his  eyes 
had  alighted  on  the  little  bag. 

"The  Necklace  of  Tears"  had  gone ! 

For  some  moments  he  was  stupefied  by  the  discovery. 

224 


REALIZATION  225 

He  knew  very  well  who  had  stolen  it.  The  Gilberts. 
He  knew  now  why  Eugene  had  been  hanging  around 
the  hotel  for  the  last  week  or  more.  He  realized,  too, 
that  he  had  been  drugged.  How  they  had  managed  that 
he  did  not  know.  He  did  not  think  about  the  matter  at 
all.  He  only  knew  Desiree's  heritage  had  gone,  had  been 
stolen  from  him,  the  necklace  she  had  placed  in  his  hands 
with  such  perfect  faith  and  trust. 

He  sat  down  heavily  on  the  bed  and  tried  to  think  about 
the  matter  rationally.  And  the  more  he  thought  about  it 
the  more  he  realized  that  he  would  have  to  take  his 
beating  in  silence. 

Assuming  he  found  the  Gilberts,  he  could  not  openly 
accuse  them  of  stealing  the  necklace.  As  Desiree's 
guardian  the  Count  had  a  right  to  have  charge  of  it.  He 
could  not  explain  why  he  wanted  it  back  without  de- 
nouncing them,  without  dragging  in  "The  Triple  Alli- 
ance" and  smirching  the  girl's  good  name. 

He  was  tied  hand  and  foot.  Moreover,  by  now  the 
Gilberts  would  be  far  enough  away.  It  would  be  useless 
to  ask  Desiree  to  let  him  prosecute  her  guardian.  In- 
stinctively he  knew  she  would  rather  lose  her  fortune 
than  risk  dishonoring  her  name. 

Two  hundred  thousand  pounds!  That  was  what  the 
accursed  thing  was  worth — £200,000,  that  he  with  his 
cocksure  ways  had  allowed  to  be  stolen;  £200,000,  that 
Desiree  had  put  into  his  hands  with  the  faith  of  a  little 
child. 

As  Wilson  sat  on  his  bed  trying  to  grapple  with  the 
problem  that  beset  him  the  devil  came  and  whispered 
in  his  ear  again. 

She  was  such  a  child,  so  easily  deceived,  that  little  girl 


226  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

who  had  had  no  eyes  with  which  to  see.  He  would  only 
have  to  go  to  her  and  say: 

"Desiree,  I've  sold  your  necklace.  It  fetched  £20,000," 
and  she  would  believe  him. 

But  he  refused  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  tempter. 

He  had  sacrificed  her  once  on  the  altar  of  his  own 
stupidity;  he  was  not  going  to  do  it  again. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do — he  must  pay  back 
every  penny  of  that  sacred  trust,  a  crushing  debt  of  honor 
that  would  ruin  him.  When  he  had  paid  that  off,  con- 
sidering the  orgy  of  extravagance  he  had  been  indulging 
in  lately,  he  would  not  have  ^500  left  in  the  world. 

John  Wilson  was  unnerved. 

The  wonderful  pile  of  gold  for  which  he  had  worked 
so  hard  and  so  honestly,  the  only  thing  about  him  that 
he  considered  put  him  on  a  level  with  the  Countess  de 
Mailly,  would  be  swept  away.  Without  it  he  dared  not 
aspire  to  her. 

His  head  fell  on  his  hands. 

Why  had  he  put  a  finger  on  that  accursed  necklace? 
Why  had  he  ever  touched  the  damned  thing?  Why  must 
he  go  and  meddle  in  matters  that  did  not  concern  him? 
Why  had  he  asked  Desiree  to  let  him  have  charge  of  it  ? 
The  Gilberts  would  have  stolen  it  from  her,  but  that 
would  have  been  no  concern  of  his. 

Wilson's  world  was  very  dark  just  then.  The  necklace 
was  indeed  a  "Necklace  of  Tears"  for  him,  for  it  seemed 
to  have  taken  from  him  what  he  loved  best — Desiree, 
Countess  de  Mailly. 


DESPAIR 

That  day  when  Mrs.  Green  came  in  for  lunch  she 
found  Wilson  in  the  vestibule,  with  an  air  about  him  as 
if  he  might  be  waiting  for  her. 

"Hello!"  she  said,  before  he  had  time  to  speak. 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing.     Why?" 

"You  look  a  bit  hipped." 

He  looked  more  than  a  "bit  hipped."  He  looked  posi- 
tively haggard. 

"I've  got  to  go  back  to  England  unexpectedly  on  busi- 
ness," he  replied. 

Mrs.  Green  wagged  a  finger  at  him. 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  she  remarked.  "And  you  don't 
like  having  to  leave  the  Countess  Desiree?" 

"I  don't,"  Wilson  said  truthfully.  "And  I  may  not  be 
able  to  get  back  again  for  a  month  or  two,"  he  went  on. 
"I  know  you're  at  a  loose  end  until  the  beginning  of  May, 
so  I'm  going  to  ask  you  a  favor." 

"Ask  away,"  Mrs.  Green  said  with  encouragement. 

"The  Countess  will  be  out  and  about  in  another  week. 
I  want  someone  I  can  trust  to  look  after  her,  to  take  her 
round  a  bit,  and  let  her  see  what  the  world's  made  of, 
to  keep  a  foreign  bounder  called  Bassino  off  her  track 
if  he  comes  round  pestering  her,  to  be  her  guardian  and 
honorary  dame  de  compagnie  until  she  has  found  her  feet 

227 


228  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

You'd  have  a  good  time  going  round  with  her,  Mrs. 
Green.  She's  in  the  best  set,  and  has  £10,000  a  year  now 
she's  of  age." 

To  go  about  with  a  countess  was  Mrs.  Green's  idea  of 
heaven,  more  especially  as  the  countess  was  a  young  girl 
she  could  mother. 

*It's  just  the  sort  of  job  I'm  looking  for,"  she  said. 

She  knew  now  how  the  two  had  met,  and  she  assumed 
that,  seeing  the  girl  was  utterly  neglected,  left  entirely  to 
the  mercy  of  ignorant  servants,  Wilson  had  taken  upon 
himself  to  look  after  her  and  her  affairs. 

Again  Mrs.  Green  glanced  at  Wilson,  noting  anew  his 
worn  and  haggard  appearance,  the  misery  that  lurked  in 
his  steady  brown  eyes. 

All  at  once  it  dawned  on  her  to  wonder  if  "business" 
were  only  an  excuse;  if  he  had  proposed  to  the  girl  and 
had  been  rejected,  and  was  now  taking  himself  off.  He 
certainly  looked  as  if  he  had  received  his  death-sentence. 
A  question  hovered  on  her  lips.  Then  she  deemed  it  more 
diplomatic  to  say  nothing. 

After  leaving  Mrs.  Green,  Wilson  went  to  the  bureau 
to  say  he  would  be  leaving  that  evening.  There  he  found 
the  manager  in  the  act  of  hanging  up  the  telephone 
receiver. 

"Here's  a  bit  of  a  tragedy,"  the  latter  remarked. 

Wilson  had  no  thought  except  for  his  own — that  hence- 
forth Desiree  was  so  far  above  him  that  she  could  not 
be  grasped  at. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  absently. 

"Did  you  ever  meet  a  Eugene  de  Gilbert  who  has  been 
staying  here  for  the  last  week?  He  and  his  father,  the 
Count  de  Gilbert,  were  frequently  in  the  place,  and  knew 
all  the  best  people  here.  They've  both  been  drowned. 


DESPAIR  229 

I've  just  had  a  through  telephone  message.  Their  bodies 
were  washed  ashore  somewhere  near  Toulon." 

A  thrill  of  hope  coursed  through  Wilson. 

"That's  a  bit  of  hard  luck,"  he  said,  turning  away 
quickly. 

Forgetful  of  his  lunch,  he  left  the  hotel,  in  quest  of 
the  interpreter  he  had  employed  on  a  former  occasion. 
Having  found  his  man,  with  him  he  went  to  the  police 
station. 

There  he  spent  money  he  could  now  ill  afford  in  trying 
to  discover  if  "The  Necklace  of  Tears"  had  been  found 
on  either  of  the  bodies. 

His  enquiries  proved  that  nothing  of  the  sort  had  been 
heard  of,  and  that  it  could  not  have  been  stolen  had  it 
been  there,  since  the  corpses  had  been  found  by  a  con- 
tingent of  sailors  from  one  of  the  cruisers  lying  in  the 
bay. 

He  came  away  from  the  police  station  with  the  cold 
comfort  of  knowing  that  at  least  the  Gilberts  would 
trouble  Desiree  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE  SACRIFICE 

In  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  nursing  home  Desiree  sat 
knitting,  and  as  she  knitted  she  was  brooding  over  the 
fact  that  a  week  hence  she  would  see  her  friend  for  the 
first  time.  She  had  but  a  vague  idea  what  he  was  like, 
but,  from  the  first,  instinct  had  told  her  he  was  quite 
different  from  the  other  men  who  had  played  prominent 
parts  in  her  life — her  uncle  and  cousin  and  the  million- 
aire, Bassino. 

She  knew  Wilson  was  not  what  she  had  been  brought 
up  to  look  upon  as  a  "gentleman."  He  had  told  her  so 
himself  on  the  occasion  of  their  first  meeting,  and  after- 
wards her  cousin  had  not  forgotten  to  impress  the  fact 
upon  her. 

To  dance  with  her  friend  was  not  like  dancing  with 
Mr.  Bassino ;  in  the  latter  case  it  was  like  being  pressed 
tightly  against  a  foul,  hot,  dirty  cushion,  and  it  left  her 
sick  and  suffocated,  full  of  vague,  horrible  fears.  But 
with  her  friend  it  was  quite  different ;  then  there  was  only 
hardness  and  strength,  a  nice  clean  sensation,  and  a  feel- 
ing that  no  matter  how  close  he  held  her,  it  would  be  all 
right.  She  never  wanted  to  struggle  and  get  away  from 
him,  as  she  did  when  she  had  had  to  dance  with  her 
cousin  and  Mr.  Bassino. 

She  knew  Wilson  was  not  tall,  because  when  they 
danced  together  his  voice  was  about  on  a  level  with  her 

230 


THE  SACRIFICE  231 

ear,  not  above  her  head,  as  Eugene's  was.  She  knew  he 
was  broad  because  on  his  shoulder  she  had  once  found 
a  refuge  from  her  troubles.  She  knew  his  hands  were 
large  and  hard  and  inclined  to  be  rough-skinned,  but  they 
were  always  kind. 

He  was  sitting  with  her  now,  somewhere  in  the  dark- 
ness. She  could  feel  his  presence,  although  he  was  not 
in  a  very  talkative  mood  that  afternoon.  She  knitted 
away  industriously,  wondering  why  he  was  so  unusually 
quiet,  feeling  too  lowly  and  meek  to  speak  unless  spoken 
to.  One  does  not  converse  freely  with  people  who  can 
perform  miracles. 

"Desiree,"  his  voice  said  presently,  a  strained  note  in  it, 
"I  can't  have  you  going  about  thinking  yourself  a  pauper. 
I've  taken  the  law  into  my  own  hands.  I've  sold  your 
necklace.  It  fetched  £200,000,  and  I'm  going  to  invest 
the  money  for  you  in  good  sound  English  securities." 

Wilson  expected  a  flood  of  reproaches  for  having  dared 
to  part  with  her  heirloom  without  permission. 

However,  no  reproaches  came. 

All  Desiree  thought  was  that  the  necklace  had  gone, 
and  now  no  harm  would  fall  on  her  cherished  friend. 

"Then  I  shall  be  able  to  buy  Mrs.  Green  another 
bracelet,"  she  remarked,  as  if  £200,000  were  no  more 
than  that  amount  of  pence. 

But  she  did  not  add  "and  pay  you  back." 

She  did  not  want  to  pay  him  back.  She  loved  his  gifts 
not  because  of  their  value — she  had  no  idea  of  that — but 
merely  because  he  had  given  them. 

"You'll  be  a  rich  woman.  You'll  have  at  least  £10,000 
a  year." 

"Ten  thousand  pounds  a  year!    Then  I  shall  have  as 


232  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

much  money  as  you,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  child's  delight 
at  equaling  a  loved  friend  in  some  way. 

Her  words  made  him  wince. 

He  was  a  proud  man,  too  proud  to  ask  a  woman  to 
marry  him  when  he  coukl  not  support  her,  too  humble 
to  imagine  that  he  might  aspire  to  Desiree  now  his 
fortune  had  gone. 

He  lapsed  into  silence  again.  She  went  on  knitting, 
yet  as  she  knitted  she  felt  the  tension  on  the  man. 

"What  is  it,  mon  ami?"  she  asked  presently,  an  anxious 
note  in  her  voice.  "I  feel  that  something  is  worrying 
you." 

Something  was  worrying  him.  He  sat  in  agony,  feast- 
ing his  eyes  on  the  girl — all  the  beauty  and  the  innocence 
and  the  gentle  sweetness  he  wanted;  for  which  he  had 
worked  hard  and  kept  straight,  for  the  sake  of  an  ideal 
which  he  had  once  thought  would  never  take  form,  which 
had  taken  form,  and  which  he  had  lost  through  his  own 
stupidity  and  folly. 

"I  have  to  go  to  England  unexpectedly  on  business/' 
he  said  in  as  casual  a  voice  as  he  could  muster.  "I  must 
start  to-night,  but  I'm  leaving  Mrs.  Green  to  take  care 
of  you  until  I — come  back." 

He  had  no  intention  of  coming  back,  of  letting  Desiree 
see  him  as  he  really  was,  and  a  pauper  into  the  bargain. 
But  he  was  not  going  to  tell  her  so.  She  liked  him,  as 
a  neglected,  loveless  child  would  like  anyone  who  hap- 
pened to  be  kind  to  it  To  think  she  was  losing  him 
would  make  her  fret.  But  when  her  bandages  were 
removed,  in  the  new  world  revealed  to  her  and  the  new 
friends  she  made  in  it,  his  memory  would  soon  grow  less 
vivid. 


THE  SACRIFICE  233 

"Shall  you  be  away  for  very  long  ?"  she  asked,  a  sharp 
note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"You'll  be  able  to  see  when  I — come  back,"  he  said, 
avoiding  her  question. 

Desiree  imagined  his  absence  would  be  a  matter  of 
only  a  week  or  two,  and  a  look  of  relief  passed  over  her 
face. 

Wilson  saw  his  deception  had  succeeded. 

He  tried  to  keep  up  the  farce,  to  put  aside  his  own  loss 
and  troubles,  to  talk  to  the  girl  in  his  usual  brotherly 
manner.  But  before  long  he  found  himself  just  sitting 
in  silence,  looking  at  her. 

It  was  the  last  time  he  would  be  with  her.  To-night 
he  would  pass  out  of  her  life  for  ever.  He  was  no  longer 
John  Wilson,  Esquire,  a  successful  business  man,  so 
pleased  with  himself  and  his  success  that  he  had  dared 
to  aspire  to  the  Countess  de  Mailly.  He  was  John  Wil- 
son, a  bankrupt  and  a  fool,  yet  not  fool  enough  to  ask 
for  things  that  were  beyond  him. 

Presently  Desiree  put  down  her  work  and  came  to  his 
side,  hovering  round  him,  touching  him  gently,  as  her 
phantom  used  to  when  he  was  a  small  boy  and  unhappy. 

"I  feel  that  something  is  the  matter,"  she  said.  "Is 
there  nothing  I  can  do?" 

"It's  only  business  worries,  little  girl,"  he  answered, 
watching  her  with  tortured  eyes. 

Tea  came— a  silent  meal.  He  looked  after  the  girl's 
wants,  but  he  forgot  his  own. 

Soon  after  the  meal  was  over  he  rose  to  go.  Desiree- 
got  up  also. 

He  took  her  hands,  holding  them  for  the  last  time. 

"Good-by,  my  little  girl,"  he  said  hoarsely. 


234  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

She  raised  her  face,  with  a  timid,  hopeful  movement. 
But  it  was  her  hands  that  Wilson  kissed,  not  her  lips. 

Then  she  heard  the  door  close  behind  him. 

Beneath  the  bandages  Desiree's  tears  started  oozing. 
He  had  gone  for  one  long  week,  perhaps  two,  without 
giving  her  the  one  gift  she  wanted. 

To  Wilson,  making  his  way  out  of  the  house,  it  seemed 
the  fairy  tale  was  ended.  The  dragons  were  slain,  the 
ogre  disposed  of,  but  the  princess  would  fall  to  the  lot 
of  another.  All  he  had  got  out  of  the  deal  was  poverty, 
and  the  ragged  remains  of  a  carnation. 


PART  THREE 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  ICE  MAIDEN 

At  a  large  house  in  the  center  of  Paris  a  garden  party 
was  taking  place.  Behind  the  mansion  was  a  grassy 
stretch,  so  quiet  and  peaceful  that  it  might  have  been 
miles  away  in  the  country.  High  walls  surrounded  it. 
To  heighten  them  still  further  and  keep  out  prying  eyes 
was  ivy-grown  trellis.  Great  sycamores  screened  the 
gray  of  the  adjacent  dwellings.  In  the  midst  of  the 
garden  a  fountain  splashed  into  a  sunken  basin  dotted 
with  water  lilies,  where  goldfish  swam.  A  bright  border 
of  flowers  flared  out  against  the  dingy  walls;  quaint 
statues  stood  at  the  corners  of  the  graveled  paths,  and 
here  and  there  were  wide  stone  seats. 

The  mansion  stood  remote  and  aloof  from  its  plebeian 
neighbors,  with  shallow  stone  steps  leading  down  into  the 
screened  pleasance.  Dotted  about  the  grass  were  tables 
on  which  silver  and  china  flashed  in  the  mild  gold  of  an 
early  June  sun,  and  gilded  chairs. 

On  one  of  the  stone  seats  a  girl  sat,  a  young  man 
beside  her.  He  had  eyes  for  nothing  but  his  companion, 
but  her  gaze  was  fixed  on  a  mass  of  blue  lobelia  that 
edged  the  border. 

•     Time  passed,  and  she  said  nothing,  in  spite  of  his 
impassioned  stare. 

235 


236  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Your  eyes  are  as  blue  as  that  lobelia,  Countess,"  he 
remarked  presently.  "But  why  don't  you  turn  them  on 
me,  instead  of  wasting  their  beauty  on  those  unapprecia- 
tive,  common  little  flowers?" 

Her  attention  came  to  him  with  the  grave,  critical 
gaze  of  a  thoughtful  child. 

"Once  I  had  not  eyes  with  which  to  see  flowers,"  she 
answered. 

"And  now  you  have  eyes  that  drive  men  mad,"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "Countess — Desiree "  he  began. 

She  got  up  quickly,  with  a  slightly  disdainful  air,  as  if 
she  knew  what  was  coming. 

"No,  don't  go,"  he  implored.  "Stay  and  listen  to  what 
I  have  to  say." 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  and  I  don't  want 
to  listen." 

He  laughed  to  hide  his  chagrin. 

"So  it's  true  then,  'Ice  Maiden,'  that  you  turn  us  down 
at  the  rate  of  two  a  day  ?" 

Hastily  she  walked  away  from  him,  to  be  pounced 
upon  almost  immediately  by  another  of  his  sex,  and  then 
to  be  swallowed  up  by  the  crowd  that  surged  in  and  out 
of  the  house,  up  and  down  the  steps,  around  and  among 
the  scattered  chairs  and  tables. 

The  gathering  represented  the  most  exclusive  set  in 
Paris,  all  members  of  the  old  nobility,  and  the  only  un- 
titled  people  present  were  foreigners. 

Perhaps  the  happiest  person  there  was  Mrs.  Green. 
She  sat  with  a  duchess  on  one  side  of  her,  a  baroness  on 
the  other.  In  appearance  she  had  improved  vastly  since 
the  time  John  Wilson  had  gone  back  to  poverty  and  left 
Desiree  in  her  care.  She  was  less  obviously  painted  and 
powdered  and  tinted,  less  youthful  in  her  attire,  more 


THE  ICE  MAIDEN  237 

quietly  dressed.  She  wore  a  dark  blue  silk  dress,  a  wide 
hat  to  match  that  had  no  trimming  beyond  a  sweep  of 
white  osprey  feathers,  and  on  one  of  her  pretty  wrists 
a  sapphire  bracelet  flashed,  a  present  her  youthful  charge 
had  insisted  on  giving  her  soon  after  their  arrival  in  Paris. 

So  attired,  she  did  not  look  a  vulgar  fifty-two  mas- 
querading as  twenty,  but  a  jolly  and  attractive  forty, 
which  was  the  most  a  woman  of  her  type  and  years  could 
hope  to  attain. 

In  halting  French  she  was  conversing  amicably  with 
her  neighbors,  both  of  whom  were  about  her  own  age, 
and  both  of  whom  possessed  marriageable  sons. 

As  Mrs.  Green  talked  to  her  companions,  blissfully 
happy  in  having  attained  social  heights  once  undreamt  of, 
she  kept  a  watch  on  two  figures  in  the  throng. 

One  was  that  of  a  short,  flashily-dressed,  foreign- 
looking  man  who  was  dogging  the  steps  of  a  graceful, 
slender  girl  who,  with  a  little  bevy  of  admirers,  moved 
slowly  through  the  crowd. 

Bassino  did  not  look  either  as  stout  or  as  aggressive 
as  in  the  days  when  he  had  had  a  round  with  Wilson 
over  the  possession  of  the  Countess  de  Mailly.  He  was 
almost  thin  and  woefully  haggard — a  man  consumed  by 
a  devouring  and  hopeless  passion. 

"Monsieur  Bassino  has  not  taken  his  conge  with  the 
good  grace  of  our  young  men,"  the  Baroness  remarked 
presently,  noting  the  girl  and  her  shadow.  "He  is  an 
excellent  parti — one  of  the  best  in  Paris — yet  they  say 
she  has  refused  him,  not  once,  but  a  dozen  times." 

"Can  you  be  surprised  at  this  infatuation  ?"  Mrs.  Green 
put  in.  "Desiree  grows  more  beautiful  every  day." 

"And  more  cold,"  the  Duchess  said  with  a  sigh. 
"Always  and  to  everybody  'The  Ice  Maiden,'" 


238  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Not  to  your  charming  Victor  surely?"  the  Baroness 
purred  sympathetically,  yet  there  was  an  undercurrent 
of  malicious  delight  in  her  well-modulated  voice.  "Not 
surely  to  the  handsomest  man  in  Paris?" 

"The  poor  boy  is  frantic.  I  could  make  a  match  for 
him  now  with  Miss  Lambert  of  Boston,"  the  Duchess 
replied  sorrowfully.  "She  has  money  but  no  looks. 
But  Victor  is  so  stupid.  He  says  he  has  done  with 
women — that  he  will  go  abroad  and  work  for  his  living! 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  folly?  And  all  because  'The 
Ice  Maiden'  has  refused  him." 

"She  refuses  everybody,"  Mrs.  Green  put  in,  by  way 
of  consolation. 

"But  it  is  different  in  Victor's  case,"  the  Duchess  re- 
plied. "I  was  at  school  with  Desiree's  mother." 

Mrs.  Green  did  not  quite  see  why  this  fact  should 
forward  Victor's  suit,  but  she  decided  she  had  not  the 
French  point  of  view,  so  she  said  nothing. 

Her  attention  went  again  to  Desiree,  whom  fashionable 
Paris  had  christened  "The  Ice  Maiden." 

Two  months  ago  she  had  brought  the  girl  to  Paris. 
Before  a  month  had  passed  she  and  her  charge  were  the 
most  sought  after  people  in  the  most  exclusive  and 
aristocratic  set.  Desiree  was  the  beauty  and  the  sensation 
of  the  season — a  girl  who  had  been  blind  until  she  was 
twenty-one,  when  she  suddenly  inherited  both  sight  and 
money. 

Exclusive  French  mothers  with  eligible  sons  suddenly 
remembered  they  had  been  at  school  with  Desiree's 
mother,  or  that  they  had  known  her  father,  or  were  in 
some  way  distantly  connected  with  herself.  They  would 
have  taken  her  from  beneath  Mrs.  Green's  motherly  wing 
and  installed  her  in  their  own  homes,  but  Desiree  refused 


THE  ICE  MAIDEN  239 

their  offers,  preferring  to  live  in  an  hotel  with  her 
homely  chaperone. 

All  sorts  of  romantic  tales  were  afloat  about  the  young 
and  beautiful  heiress — how  some  man  had  met  her  quite 
by  chance,  a  blind  girl  wandering  about  all  alone  in  a 
little  hamlet  in  the  distant  Maritime  Alps,  with  a  diamond 
necklace  worth  millions  of  francs  about  her  neck ;  how  he 
had  declared  she  could  be  cured,  and  had  taken  her  to  a 
specialist;  how  he  had  sold  her  necklace  for  a  fabulous 
sum,  and  then  disappeared. 

Whether  this  was  true  or  not,  Paris  did  not  know. 
But  it  knew  the  Countess  de  Mailly  owed  her  sight  and 
her  riches  to  an  Englishman,  because  she  had  said  so 
herself. 

Of  that  Englishman  Desiree  had  often  talked  during 
the  first  few  weeks  after  her  operation.  Like  a  little 
child  she  had  clung  to  Mrs.  Green,  wondering  why  her 
friend  stayed  away,  like  a  little  child  asking  for  him  day 
after  day. 

"Why  didn't  Mr.  Wilson  stay  until  I  was  better?" 
was  one  of  her  questions. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,  I  suspect  he  was 
fidgeting  about  his  business,"''  Mrs.  Green  had  said  one 
day.  "Some  men  are  like  that.  Business  is  more  to 
them  than  wife  or  child." 

After  that  Desiree  had  ceased  to  ask  for  her  friend. 

It  seemed  to  her  he  had  come  and  done  what  he  con- 
sidered his  duty  towards  someone  helpless  and  friendless 
whom  Fate  had  thrown  across  his  path.  Then,  in  a  cold, 
hard,  English  way,  he  had  gone,  wanting  no  thanks,  no 
reward.  Once  or  twice  stiff,  brief  notes  had  come  from 
him  in  connection  with  the  disposal  of  her  fortune — 


240  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

notes  she  could  neither  read  nor  reply  to,  that  had  to  be 
answered  by  another. 

Mrs.  Green  had  engaged  a  staid  and  capable  governess 
for  her  charge.  Every  morning  the  lovely  young  heiress 
whom  Paris  feted  and  courted  and  flattered  had  to  do 
her  lessons  as  if  she  were  still  in  the  schoolroom.  She 
learnt  with  amazing  rapidity.  Every  moment  that  could 
be  snatched  from  a  whirl  of  gayeties  was  spent  in  study, 
to  achieve  one  end — to  be  able  to  read  and  reply  to  those 
brief,  curt  notes  herself. 

As  Desiree  moved  among  the  fashionable  throng,  cold, 
proud,  and  disdainful,  Wilson's  last  note  was  tucked  away 
beneath  her  dress — a  note  that  all  the  passionate  gratitude 
and  worship  within  her  heart  could  not  warm  into  one 
single  suggestion  of  affection  or  love.  There  was  nothing 
in  it  but  the  voice  of  cold,  hard  duty. 

It  ran: 

"Mv  DEAR  DESIREE, — Everything  connected  with  the 
disposal  of  your  money  is  now  settled.  It  is  put  into 
excellent  securities,  and  will  bring  in  a  steady  income  of 
£10,470  a  year.  I  have  arranged  with  a  well-known  firm 
of  solicitors  to  look  after  your  affairs,  and  you  should 
hear  from  them  by  this  post. 

"Hoping  you  are  quite  better  now  and  enjoying  your- 
self in  Paris,  with  kind  regards  to  yourself  and  Mrs. 
Green, 

"I  remain, 

"Yours  sincerely, 
"JOHN  WILSON." 

That  note  she  had  been  able  to  read  for  herself.  She 
had  answered  it,  too,  and  the  reply  was  now  on  its  way 
to  England,  written  with  painful  care  in  a  large,  round, 
childish  hand. 


THE  ICE  MAIDEN  241 

"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND, — It  is  most  kind  of  you  to  take 
so  much  trouble  on  my  account,  and  I  can  never  thank 
you  enough  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  I  am  sorry 
I  have  not  been  able  to  write  before  and  say  for  myself 
how  grateful  I  am,  but  you  will  quite  understand  why 
I  could  not. 

"You  must  not  imagine  that  I  think  only  of  money. 
I  say  this  because  in  all  your  letters  you  talk  of  nothing 
else.  One  true  friend  is  worth  more  to  me  than  all  the 
money  in  the  world,  and  I  would  rather  have  my  sight 
than  the  fortune  you  have  gained  for  me  by  selling  'The 
Necklace  of  Tears.'  And  I  always  remember  that  I  owe 
my  sight,  my  riches,  and  my  good  name  to  you. 

"Perhaps  some  day,  when  you  can  find  time  to  leave 
your  business,  you  will  come  to  France  again.  I  shall 
look  forward  to  that  day.  I  want  to  meet  you  face  to 
face  and  thank  you  personally  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me. 

"Always  yours  most  gratefully, 

"DESIREE  DE  MAILLY." 

As  the  girl  sauntered  about  the  garden  with  her  small 
troop  of  admirers  her  thoughts  were  with  none  of  them. 
They  were  with  the  letter  she  had  posted  off  to  Wilson, 
a  note  with  a  tacit  invitation  in  it,  that  she  hoped  he 
would  see  and  understand. 

Tired  of  the  men  who  dogged  her  steps,  presently  she 
went  into  the  house.  -By  skillful  strategy  she  shook  off 
her  cavaliers  and  sought  a  refuge  in  the  library.  From 
one  of  the  shelves  she  took  a  volume  of  an  encyclopedia, 
and,  seating  herself  in  a  deep  chair,  set  about  in  quest 
of  the  knowledge  that  darkness  had  kept  from  her. 

However,  she  was  not  left  long  in  peace. 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  door  opening  made  her  look 
round.  On  seeing  who  the  intruder  was  she  got  up 
quickly. 


242  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Well,  you  see,  Countess,"  a  thick  voice  said,  "you  can't 
shake  me  as  easily  as  you  do  the  rest  of  the  crowd." 

Desiree  made  no  reply.  She  stood  toying  rather  nerv- 
ously with  a  long  chain  of  ivory  beads,  watching  Bassino 
with  beautiful,  grave  eyes  out  of  which  she  tried  to  keep 
dislike  and  loathing. 

He  came  to  her  side,  looking  at  her  in  a  hungry, 
hopeless  manner. 

"At  least  it's  you  I  want,  not  your  money,"  he  re- 
marked presently. 

"I  know  that,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"Won't  you  let  that  stand  in  my  favor?"  he  asked, 
despair  and  passion  in  his  voice.  "Desiree,  if  only  you'd 
have  me,  you  could  wipe  your  feet  on  me  for  the  rest  of 
your  life,  and  I'd  reckon  myself  the  luckiest  man  alive." 

The  passion  in  his  voice  and  eyes  made  her  move  from 
him  with  a  little  shudder  of  repulsion. 

He  laughed  wildly. 

"Why  do  you  always  steer  away  like  that  when  I  come 
near  you,"  he  asked  bitterly,  "as  if  I'd  leave  a  dirty  mark 
on  you  if  I  touched  you?  Good  God!  If  ever  a  man 
had  his  sins  burnt  out  of  him  by  a  raging  fire,  it's  me  in 
my  mad  love  for  you." 

His  words  only  sent  her  farther  away,  edging,  not  too 
obviously,  towards  the  door. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  went  on  in  a  wild,  distraught  manner, 
"you're  going  to  run  away  from  me  now,  as  you've  always 
done  since  our  first  meeting.  But  before  you  go  I  want 
to  tell  you  one  thing.  I  know  when  I'm  beat.  I  know 
when  I'm  done.  And  I'm  starting  back  to  Rio  to- 
morrow." 

A  look  of  relief  crossed  Desiree's  face,  and  Bassino 
was  quick  to  see  it. 


THE  ICE  MAIDEN  243 

"'Good  riddance!'  Say  it,"  he  continued  bitterly. 
"You  can't  hurt  me  more  than  you've  done  already." 

His  hand  went  to  his  pocket.  He  drew  out  a  check 
representing  in  francs  50,000  dollars,  and  signed  in  a 
large,  round,  unformed  hand  "Desiree  de  Mailly." 

"You  sent  me  this,"  he  said  thickly,  "the  price  I  paid 
your  uncle  for  you.  Do  you  think  50,000  dollars  is  going 
to  compensate  me  for  losing  you  ?  By  hell,  no,  Desiree ! 
That's  what  I  shall  do  with  this  and  every  check  of  the 
sort  you  send  me." 

He  drew  a  match  from  his  pocket  and,  striking  it,  set 
fire  to  the  check. 

With  grave  eyes  she  watched  him. 

She  was  not  afraid  of  him  now.  He  was  no  longer 
an  unseen  horror  that  her  uncle  would  thrust  upon  her, 
had  sold  her  to! 

She  loathed  Bassino  as  much  as  ever,  but  sorrow  had 
taken  the  place  of  fear. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said. 

"It's  not  your  pity  I  want,  but  you,"  he  started,  in  a 
wild,  impassioned  manner.  "You,  in  my  arms,  all  night, 
all  day.  Desiree,  if  only " 

She  turned  quickly  and  fled,  wanting  nothing  now  but 
to  get  away  from  him,  to  keep  out  of  his  sight  until  he 
had  really  gone. 

Leaving  the  house,  she  went  back  to  the  garden, 
towards  the  spot  where  Mrs.  Green  was  sitting. 

Her  approach  brought  sweet,  artificial  smiles  to  the 
Baroness's  worldly  mouth,  and  she  shook  a  delicate  fore- 
finger reprovingly  at  the  girl. 

"Why  have  you  been  so  cruel  to  my  Jacques?"  she 
asked.  "He  tells  me  you  refused  to  wear  the  roses  he 
sent  you  for  last  night's  ball." 


244  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Desiree's  mouth  curled  disdainfully. 

"I  have  so  many  flowers  given  to  me  nowadays  I  can't 
wear  them  all." 

"Whose  did  you  wear  then?"  the  Baroness  asked 
sharply. 

"Those  matnan  bought  me  to  go  with  my  dress,"  the 
girl  answered,  smiling  at  Mrs.  Green. 

"Shall  we  go  now?"  she  continued,  addressing  her 
chaperone.  "I'm  so  tired,  and  there's  a  ball  again  to- 
night." 

Mrs.  Green  was  on  her  feet  at  once,  ready  to  do  any- 
thing her  charge  suggested,  beaming  at  the  "maman" 
that  came  so  naturally  to  those  proud  young  lips  before 
all  these  titles — to  her,  Mrs.  Green,  who,  in  her  young 
days,  had  sold  ribbons  behind  a  counter! 

"Why,  yes,  my  dear,  I'm  ready  any  time  you  are," 
she  answered. 

Once  they  were  in  the  privacy  of  the  motor  which 
Mrs.  Green  had  hired  during  their  stay  in  Paris  Desiree 
said  a  trifle  petulantly: 

"Maman,  why  didn't  the  Baroness  du  Chalet  remember 
her  husband  was  my  father's  second  cousin  when  I  was 
poor  and  blind?" 

Mrs.  Green  took  the  girl's  small  hand  into  her  plump 
one  and  patted  it  consolingly. 

"My  dear,  you  must  learn  to  take  the  world  as  it  is." 

"I've  learnt  that  the  people  who  were  kind  to  me  in 
the  days  when  I  was  poor  and  afflicted  were  the  ones 
who  can  lay  no  claim  to  me — who  were  not  at  school 
with  my  mother,  or  friends  of  my  father's,  or  distant 
connections  of  my  own.  They  were  not  of  my  own 
nation  even.  I'm  not  stupid  if  I  am  ignorant.  These 
people  only  come  now  because  I'm  rich.  They  are  not 


THE  ICE  MAIDEN  245 

like  you  and  Mr.  Wilson,  who  were  kind  to  me  when 
I  had  nothing.  Maman,  is  Mr.  Wilson  anything  like 
Jacques  du  Chalet?"  she  finished. 

Mrs.  Green  was  used  to  such  questions.  They  told  her 
who  was  the  last  man  to  lay  his  heart  at  Desiree's  feet. 

"No,  Mr.  Wilson  is  quite  different." 

"Better  looking?" 

"I've  often  told  you  good  looks  are  not  Wilson's  great 
point.  He's  strong-looking,  and  when  you've  said  that 
you've  said  all.  And  he's  come  up  from  nothing,  and 
looks  as  if  he  had  risen." 

Desiree  had  heard  of  people  going  from  something  to 
nothing ;  there  were  several  cases  among  her  own  connec- 
tions— the  Gilberts,  for  instance.  But  she  had  never 
heard  of  any  of  her  own  immediate  relatives  coming 
from  nothing  to  something. 

"It  must  be  very  wonderful  to  get  up  from  nothing," 
she  remarked. 

Mrs.  Green,  however,  did  not  seem  to  think  it  so  very 
marvelous. 

"I  know  lots  who  have  done  it,"  she  replied,  "me  and 
Mr.  Green  among  the  number.  Why,  there  was  a  day 
when  I  served  in  a  draper's  shop,  and  he  was  an  errand 
boy  at  a  steel  works.  I  wouldn't  dream  of  telling  this 
to  everybody,  my  dear,"  she  went  on  confidentially,  "but 
you're  so  different.  You  like  me  for  what  I  am,  not  for 
what  I  have,  and  you'd  be  just  as  nice  to  me  if  I  hadn't 
a  penny." 

"Yes,"  Desiree  said  in  a  meditating  manner,  "that's 
why,  awful  as  Mr.  Bassino  is,  I  can't  quite  ignore  him 
When  he  speaks  to  me,  since  I  always  remember  that  when 
he  first  asked  me  to  marry  him  I  was  poor  and  blind. 
I  can't  accuse  him  of  wanting  me  for  my  money.  He's 


246  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

starting  back  for  South  America  to-morrow,"  she  fin- 
ished with  an  air  of  relief. 

Then  she  lapsed  into  silence,  thinking  of  the  other 
man  who  had  invaded  her  darkness  and  had  befriended 
her  when  she  was  poor  and  of  no  account. 

She  sat  on,  with  his  cold  little  note  pressed  against  her 
heart — a  queen  among  women;  a  ruler  of  men  by  right 
of  her  wondrous  beauty ;  too  proud  to  run  after  the  one 
man  she  wanted — a  man  who  preferred  his  business  to 
herself. 

Speculatively  Mrs.  Green  watched  her,  wondering  if 
Desiree  were  regretting  having  refused  John  Wilson  now 
life  had  shown  her  the  world's  lack  of  sincerity. 


CHAPTER  II 
MRS.  GREEN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

Mrs.  Green  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  her  boudoir  cap 
askew  on  her  head,  a  breakfast  tray  on  a  little  table  beside 
her,  an  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

As  she  read  it  a  look  of  dismay  came  to  her  face. 

"Well,  I  never  did!"  she  exclaimed  when  the  pages 
were  finished. 

"What  is  it,  ma/man?  What  has  happened  now?" 
Desiree  asked. 

"Well,  I  never  did,"  Mrs.  Green  said  again.  "But  isn't 
that  just  like  a  man !  Never  any  pleasing  them.  If  you're 
there  they  let  you  see  you're  not  wanted.  Then,  when 
you  go  away  and  start  enjoying  yourself,  this  comes  along. 
Just  read  it,  my  dear,"  she  finished,  handing  the  letter  to 
Desiree. 

The  girl  took  the  letter  and  read  it  through  slowly. 

It  was  from  Mr.  Green,  insisting  that  his  wife  come 
home  at  once,  complaining  that  he  was  tired  of  pouring 
out  his  own  breakfast  coffee,  and  that  the  boys  said  it 
was  not  much  use  having  a  mother  if  she  was  going  to 
spend  the  rest  of  her  life  gallivanting  over  the  Continent 
with  duchesses  and  countesses  and  the  like.  Not  that  any 
one  of  them  grudged  her  enjoying  herself,  but  there  was 
reason  in  all  things;  and  no  married  woman  ought  to 
desert  her  husband  and  family  for  six  months  on  end, 
The  boys  were  complaining  that  the  bureau  drawers  were 

247 


248  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

always  untidy  nowadays,  that  their  socks  came  back  in 
odd  ones  masquerading  as  pairs,  that  their  handkerchiefs 
all  got  mixed  up,  and  Arthur,  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
had  run  his  best  shirts  to  earth  in  his  father's  wardrobe — 
all  things  that  never  happened  when  their  mother  was  at 
home. 

And  there  had  been  days — days  of  dire  calamity — 
when  he,  Mr.  Green,  on  coming  home  for  lunch,  had  not 
been  able  to  find  the  morning  paper !  Cook  was  manag- 
ing the  housekeeping  and  all  that  very  well — there  was 
nothing  at  which  to  grumble  on  that  score — but  she  did 
not  seem  to  realize  how  it  tried  a  man's  temper  to  come 
home  and  find  the  morning  paper  missing — deliberately 
torn  up  to  light  a  fire,  and  without  a  word  of  apology ! 

There  was  no  harm  in  her  chaperoning  that  wonder- 
child,  the  Countess  de  Mailly,  for  a  bit,  but  the  boys  hoped 
it  would  not  give  her  ideas  above  their  own  set  at  home. 
And  she  must  remember  that  her  own  sons  had  some 
claim  on  her,  even  if  the  Countess  did  call  her  "mamian," 
and  the  boys  only  called  her  by  the  sensible  English  word 
"mother." 

He,  Mr.  Green,  and  the  boys  were  glad  she,  Mrs. 
Green,  had  been  such  a  success  socially.  That  last  photo 
she  had  sent  of  herself  in  what  she  said  was  a  dark  blue 
silk  dress  and  the  big  hat  with  the  feather  was  a  stunner, 
and  she  looked  quite  the  "grand  lady."  But  it  was  time 
now  that:  she  gave  a  thought  to  them  slaving  away  at  home 
for  her  to  buy  hats  with  a  bit  of  a  feather  in  them  that 
cost  £30  apiece. 

If  she  was  afraid  to  come  home  because  of  the  bracelet 
that  was  stolen,  then  she  need  not  be.  No  one  was  going 
;o  throw  it  up  to  her.  It  was  very  kind  of  the  Countess 
de  Mailly  to  have  given  her  another,  but  it  was  not  at  all 


MRS.  GREEN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER     249 

necessary.  He,  Mr.  Green,  could  afford  to  give  her  all 
the  bracelets  she  wanted,  and  allow  for  the  loss  of  one  or 
two  when  she  happened  to  be  traveling  in  foreign  parts. 

The  letter  ended  up  with  a  frantic  cry  that  he  might 
as  well  have  no  wife  at  all  as  one  who  appeared  to  have 
made  up  her  mind  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  on  the 
Continent. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  fuss,  Desiree  ?"  Mrs.  Green 
asked,  when  the  letter  was  handed  back.  "And  all  be- 
cause I've  stayed  away  four  and  a  half  months  instead 
of  three !  Why,  you'd  almost  think  they'd  missed  me !" 

"I  should  say  they  have,"  Desiree  answered  gently. 

Mrs.  Green  grabbed  at  the  letter  again. 

"Do  you  think  so,  my  dear?  Why,  to  live  with  them 
you'd  say  they  had  no  use  for  'Ma.' " 

She  read  the  letter  through  again. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  do  keep  an  eye  on  their  socks  and 
things,  and  see  they're  all  sorted  out  properly  when  they 
come  from  the  laundry.  And  I  always  do  take  care  that 
nobody  runs  off  with  the  morning  paper,  in  case  Mr. 
Green  should  come  home  for  lunch  and  want  another  look 
at  it.  But  I've  got  so  used  to  doing  it  that  I  forgot  I  did." 

She  sighed. 

"I'm  having  a  great  time  here  in  Paris.  Yet  I  suppose 
if  they  want  me  at  home  I  must  go." 

She  paused,  and  her  gaze  was  fixed  on  her  charge. 

By  now  Mrs.  Green  was  certain  that  Desiree  regretted 
not  having  accepted  Wilson's  offer,  and  she  determined 
to  give  the  girl  a  chance  of  rectifying  her  error. 

"Why  don't  you  come  back  with  me,  my  dear,  and  have 
a  look  at  England  ?  Mr.  Green  and  the  boys  would  be  so 
pleased  and  proud.  They're  not  classy,  like  the  people 
we  know  here,  but  they'd  make  you  right  welcome." 


250  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  think  I  shall  go  back  to 
Nice.  I  want  to  get  my  place  there  in  working  order. 
And  then  next  year  you  must  come  and  stay  with  me, 
and  bring  Mr.  Green  and  the.  boys,  if  they  will  leave  their 
business,"  Desiree  answered  quietly. 

"But  I  don't  like  leaving  you  all  alone,"  Mrs.  Green 
protested. 

"I  shall  take  Miss  Ryder  back  with  me.  She  can  be  my 
companion  as  well  as  my  governess.  Besides,  I'm  used 
to  being  alone,"  she  added. 

Loth  to  part  with  her  charge,  Mrs.  Green  tried  further 
persuasions,  but  Desiree  was  firm  in  her  determination  to 
return  to  her  home  in  the  South  of  France. 

She  wanted  to  go  with  Mrs.  Green,  but  she  knew 
Wilson  lived  in  the  same  town,  and  she  was  too  proud  to 
follow  after  the  man  who  had  gone  away  from  her. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  DECEPTION 

Soon  after  her  return  to  England  Mrs.  Green  gave  a 
party.  Wilson  was  among  those  invited.  On  receiving 
her  card  he  had  intended  to  refuse;  gayety  and  himself 
were  very  out  of  tune  nowadays.  But  he  had  to  go, 
drawn  there  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Green  had  only  just 
left  Desiree. 

He  was  late  in  arriving.  Once  there,  he  had  no  wish 
to  dance.  He  mooned  around,  avoiding  possible  partners, 
hugging  his  misery  to  himself.  Outwardly  he  seemed 
much  the  same  as  usual,  except  that  there  was  a  look  of 
settled  dreariness  at  the  back  of  his  steady  brown  eyes. 

About  his  own  future  he  had  not  yet  decided.  Since 
leaving  France  he  had  been  too  busy  selling  his  business, 
settling  his  affairs,  and  investing  Desiree's  fortune  to  the 
best  advantage,  to  give  much  thought  to  himself.  Now 
that  everything  was  settled,  a  hopeless  blank  confronted 
him,  a  future  that  held  neither  love  nor  money,  but  year 
after  year  of  hard  work,  without  the  buoyancy  of  first 
youth  to  support  him,  and  with  no  possible  princess  to 
whom  to  look  forward. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  the  house  before  Mrs.  Green 
saw  him. 

"I'd  given  you  up,"  she  said  by  way  of  greeting. 

"I'm  late,  but  I  couldn't  get  away  any  sooner.  How  is 
everybody?  And  how  did  you  leave  Desiree?"  he  went 

251 


252  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

on,  going  straight  to  his  point,  but  in  as  casual  a  tone  as 
he  could  muster. 

"As  well  as  if  nothing  had  ever  been  the  matter  with 
her." 

"No  doubt  she  enjoyed  herself  in  Paris." 

"She  ought  to  have  enjoyed  herself.  .  The  men  simply 
swarmed  after  her.  She  was  the  rage — the  sensation.  We 
went  everywhere,  to  all  the  best  people.  But  I  never  saw 
a  girl  so  stand-offish  with  men,  so  particular,  so  scornful. 
'The  Ice  Maiden'  they  called  her,  because  she  refused  to 
melt  to  any  one  of  them,  and  some  of  them  were  hot 
enough  in  love  with  her  to  have  thawed  a  glacier." 

"Is  she  as  beautiful  as  ever?"  Wilson  asked,  a  parched 
note  in  his  voice. 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  see  for  yourself?" 

"I  can't  spare  the  time,"  he  answered. 

Mrs.  Green  glanced  at  him  keenly. 

All  of  a  sudden  it  struck  her  if  Wilson  had  ever  pro- 
posed. It  was  not  in  keeping  with  his  character  to  let  the 
girl  go,  merely  because  she  had  refused  him.  He  would 
have  renewed  his  attack.  But  he  always  had  avoided  the 
matrimonial  noose.  In  the  eleventh  hour  he  might  have 
decided  he  preferred  bachelorhood  to  Desiree,  although 
Mrs.  Green  could  not  imagine  any  man  in  his  senses 
doing  such  a  thing. 

"Can't  spare  the  time  indeed!"  she  said  impatiently. 
"If  you  really  wanted  to  go  you  could.  I  believe  you're 
afraid  you  might  fall  in  love  with  her  enough  to  want  to 
get  married,  and  you're  deliberately  avoiding  temptation." 

"When  the  Countess  Desiree  marries  it  will  be  a  man  of 
her  own  set,"  he  replied  stiffly. 

"There  were  plenty  of  her  own  set  after  her  in  Paris, 
yet  she  gave  them  all  the  go-by." 


THE  DECEPTION  253 

"She's  still  a  child.  It'll  take  her  a  year  or  two  to 
grow  up." 

"Oh,  you  and  your  excuses !  When  you  find  a  girl  you 
fancy  you  jib  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  dose  of  poison. 
You're  a  born  bachelor,  that's  what  you  are,  John  Wilson, 
and  I've  no  patience  with  you." 

With  this  Mrs.  Green  sailed  off. 

For  perhaps  an  hour  longer  Wilson  mooned  round  her 
premises,  then,  feeling  too  much  like  a  skeleton  at  the 
feast,  he  took  himself  and  his  gnawing  misery  back  home. 

There  he  found  a  letter  awaiting  him  in  the  round, 
unformed  hand  he  knew  now — the  second  of  the  sort  he 
had  seen.  To  the  first  he  had  replied  briefly,  saying  he 
would  be  pleased  to  do  anything  for  her,  to  help  or  advise 
her  in  any  way,  that  his  services  were  always  at  her 
disposal ;  but  he  had  made  no  mention  of  visiting  France. 

Eagerly  he  opened  the  letter,  wondering  what  Desiree 
had  to  say. 

It  was  sent  from  the  old  chateau  in  the  mountains,  and 
i't  ran: 

"My  DEAR  FRIEND, — As  perhaps  you  know,  Mrs. 
Green  has  left  Paris  for  England,  and  I  have  come  back 
here  to  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  country.  I  do  not 
think  I  cared  much  about  Paris.  It  has  such  strange 
values.  Mr.  Bassino  was  tolerated,  even  encouraged, 
merely  because  he  had  money.  So  I  came  back  here, 
having  decided  I  prefer  trees  and  flowers  and  views  and 
Wolf  and  my  two  old  servants  to  all  the  people  I  met 
in  Paris. 

"But  I  wish  I  had  some  one  here  with  me  who  really 
knew  how  to  look  after  the  place.  There  is  so  much  I 
want  to  do,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  set  about  it.  I  want 
to  have  this  old  house  that  I  love  made  habitable  for  one 
thing.  I  want  to  start  a  home  for  blind  babies.  And  I 


254  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

want  to  grow  food  on  my  land,  because  the  world  is 
hungry,  and  I  know  what  that  means. 

"There  is  no  relative  or  connection  of  my  own  that 
I  care  to  call  upon  for  help  or  advice.  When  I  was  poor 
they  forgot  about  me,  and  now  their  offers  do  not  ring 
true.  Alone  I  cannot  do  any  of  the  things  I  want  to  do. 
I  am  only  really  three  months  old.  It  is  three  months 
to-day  since  I  first  saw  the  light.  I  feel  very  young  and 
ignorant,  and  the  world  is  a  large  and  strange  place. 

"I  would  like  to  have  an  Englishman  here,  as  steward 
on  my  estate,  because  I  have  learned  to  trust  your  nation. 
He  need  not  necessarily  be  a  farmer,  but  a  man  who 
knows  how  to  deal  with  the  world  and  men  and  money — 
things  I  have  not  learned  to  do,  that  I  sometimes  feel  I 
never  shall  learn,  having  so  many  years  of  darkness  and 
ignorance  behind  me. 

"Please  send  me  some  reliable  man  out  from  England, 
who  could  live  in  the  house  here  and  be  always  at  hand 
for  me  to  consult,  and  to  advise  me — someone  you  can 
trust  and  recommend. 

"Always  yours  most  gratefully, 

"DESIREE  DE  MAILLY. 

"P.  S. — Miss  Ryder,  my  governess  and  companion, 
says  that  in  a  case  like  this  a  salary  must  be  mentioned. 
You  will  perhaps  know  what  to  offer.  Would  £1,000  a 
year  be  enough? — D.  DE  M." 

As  Wilson  read  the  letter  through,  he  read  between  the 
lines.  Desiree  was  grown  up,  yet  really  only  a  child, 
alone  for  the  first  time  since  riches  and  sight  had  come 
into  her  life,  unable  to  cope  with  her  new  world,  and 
afraid  of  it. 

Then  his  future  was  no  longer  blank.  Life  suddenly 
had  an  object.  He  would  answer  the  call  in  person. 

The  girl  had  never  seen  him.  He  would  go  himself, 
pretending  he  was  sending  his  cousin.  He  would  be  her 
servant  and  steward.  Then  at  least  he  could  serve  her — 


THE  DECEPTION  255 

his  fairy  princess — although  his  poverty  and  her  position 
now  placed  them  as  far  asunder  as  the  poles. 

There  and  then  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Desiree. 

He  regretted  he  was  too  busy  to  come  himself,  he  said, 
but  he  was  sending  his  cousin,  Edward  Wilson,  a  most 
reliable  man,  one  she  could  depend  on  in  every  way. 
Three  hundred  pounds  a  year  would  be  an  ample  salary. 
She  could  expect  her  new  steward  in  about  a  week's  time. 
He  would  let  her  know  the  exact  day  and  train  later  on. 


CHAPTER  IV 
EDWARD  WILSON 

About  a  week  later  Wilson  was  driving  in  a  hired  car- 
riage along  the  narrow  road  leading  to  the  old  chateau. 
The  Judas  trees  no  longer  dripped  purple  tears  on  the 
white  dust.  The  tears  had  gone,  and  in  their  place  were 
smooth,  glossy  leaves.  The  vineyards  now  were  not  just 
an  array  of  knobbly  stumps,  with  here  and  there  a  touch 
of  green  on  their  tops.  They  had  sprouted  and  spread, 
stretching  long  green  arms  along  wood  and  wire  sup- 
ports, and  the  bees  buzzed  among  them,  seeking  honey 
in  the  masses  of  tiny  flowers.  The  cherries  no  longer 
held  white  arms  towards  an  azure  sky;  their  branches 
drooped  slightly,  heavy  with  red  fruit.  And  the  loquats 
stood  yellow-ripe  against  the  deep  green  of  their  great 
shiny  leaves. 

As  Wilson  drove  along  he  was  realizing  that  one  de- 
ception invariably  begets  another.  For  one  thing,  he  had 
had  to  make  arrangements  for  any  letters  that  Desiree 
chanced  to  send  to  him  to  be  forwarded  under  cover  to 
his  new  address,  and  he  would  have  to  reply  to  hers  in 
the  same  roundabout  way.  Also,  it  had  dawned  on  him 
that  by  hook  or  by  crook  he  must  have  an  interview  with 
Pierre  and  Juliette  before  seeing  the  girl,  for  the  two 
old  servants  had  not  been  blind. 

To  attain  this  end  he  left  Paris  by  an  earlier  train 
than  the  one  he  had  mentioned  in  his  letter  to  Desiree. 
He  decided  to  break  his  journey  at  Marseilles,  and  go  on 

256 


EDWARD  WILSON  257 

by  a  local  train,  one  that  arrived  in  Nice  about  an  hour 
before  the  one  he  was  due  to  come  by.  If  he  arrived  at 
the  chateau  unexpectedly,  he  would  have  a  much  better 
chance  of  seeing  the  servants  before  he  saw  their  mistress. 

Provided  he  could  see  either  of  the  old  retainers  alone, 
he  felt  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  making  them  fall 
in  with  his  plans. 

Wilson's  French  had  made  amazing  strides  since  his 
first  visit  to  the  chateau.  During  the  last  few  dreary 
months  he  had  tried  to  find  a  brief  forgetfulness  in 
learning  the  language,  an  occupation  that  proved  a  form 
of  torture,  since  it  had  seemed  then  that  there  would  be 
no  chance  of  ever  conversing  with  Desiree  in  her  own 
tongue. 

Luck  was  with  Wilson.  At  the  broken  iron  gates  lead- 
ing into  the  Domaine  de  Mailly  his  carriage  overtook 
Juliette — a  different  Juliette  from  the  shuffling  old  crea- 
ture of  his  first  visit.  Her  mouth  was  no  longer  toothless, 
her  clothes  no  longer  green  with  age,  and  washed  and 
patched  until  there  was  hardly  any  of  the  original  gar- 
ment left.  She  wore  a  neat  black  dress  and  a  large  white 
apron,  with  a  black  mushroom  hat  on  her  head,  tied 
under  her  chin  with  ribbon. 

On  seeing  the  occupant  of  the  carriage  she  threw  up 
her  hands. 

"It's  the  English  monsieur  himself!"  she  cried. 

At  once  Wilson  was  out  of  the  carriage  and  laying  his 
campaign  of  deceit  before  her. 

"But  why  all  this  pretending  and  pretence?"  she  asked. 
"The  Comtesse  will  be  more  pleased  to  see  you  than  your 
cousin." 

"I  don't  want  the  Countess  to  know  it's  me,"  he  re- 


258  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

plied,  a  painful  flush  deepening  the  red  of  his  plain,  strong 
face. 

Juliette  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  him. 

"Well,  then,  you  are  Monsieur  Wilson's  cousin,  if  it 
pleases  you  better." 

She  told  him  Desiree  had  gone  with  her  governess  into 
the  distant  town  to  meet  the  train.  Then  she  drove  with 
him  to  the  chateau,  showed  him  his  room,  and,  leaving 
him  to  wash  and  tidy  himself,  went  off  to  let  Pierre  into 
the  secret. 

As  Wilson  washed  off  the  dirt  and  grime  of  the 
journey,  it  seemed  incredible  that  he  was  back  in  the 
ruined  castle.  Already  the  air  of  dire  poverty  had  left 
the  place,  although  but  little  had  been  done  as  yet  towards 
its  repair. 

The  room  was  the  one  in  which  he  had  slept  on  the  night 
Desiree  had  given  him  shelter.  The  window  had  been 
mended,  the  decayed  furniture  removed.  There  was  now 
a  modern  bed,  a  new  suite  of  furniture,  and  rugs  on  the 
tiled  floor. 

Downstairs,  too,  he  had  noticed  improvements. 
Although  the  plaster  was  still  off  the  walls  of  the  great 
hall,  there  had  been  an  attempt  at  furnishing  the  place. 
In  it  he  had  seen  a  set  of  the  colored  plaited  wicker  fur- 
niture so  common  in  France — a  settee,  a  couple  of  arm- 
chairs, four  small  ones,  and  a  table  to  match,  looking  lost 
and  forlorn  in  the  great  expanse  of  the  floor. 

After  washing  and  unpacking  some  of  his  things 
Wilson  went  downstairs  again.  In  the  hall  a  smart  maid 
awaited  him.  He  was  taken  into  the  dining-room.  On 
one  corner  of  the  long  table  a  slight  repast  was  laid — a 
plate  of  sandwiches,  a  dish  of  fruit,  and  a  bottle  of  Bur- 
gundy. It  was  not  spread  on  a  colored  cloth,  but  on  one 


EDWARD  WILSON  259 

of  the  finest  linen,  and  the  china  and  glass  were  of  the 
best  quality ;  otherwise  the  old  dining-room  was  as  he  first 
knew  it,  except  that  there  were  rugs  on  the  floor,  curtains 
in  the  windows,  and  the  kitchen  chairs  had  been  replaced 
by  rush-seated  ones. 

As  Wilson  ate  sandwiches  with  the  healthy  appetite 
of  a  strong  man  he  glanced  round  the  room  and  smiled 
tenderly.  She  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  grapple  with 
£10,000  odd  a  year,  this  little  girl  who  once  had  had  only 
sixty  pounds. 

Although  all  the  improvements  had  been  made  with 
good  taste,  none  of  them  was  in  proportion  to  her  income. 

Wilson  knew  exactly  how  the  beamed  old  dining-room 
ought  to  be  furnished — as  a  mediaeval  refectory.  And 
so  it  should  be,  now  he  was  at  hand  to  help  and  advise 
the  child.  And  that  vast  hall  in  front  of  the  house  wanted 
great  heavy  pieces  of  furniture,  old  armor,  books,  and 
deep  divans — divans  that  could  be  drawn  up  round  the 
wide  open  fireplace  in  the  winter  when  a  freezing  wind 
was  blowing  down  from  the  snow-clad  heights  behind. 
The  hall  must  be  made  into  a  combined  smoking-room, 
library,  and  lounge  that  would  give  an  air  of  comfort 
and  homelikeness  the  moment  one  entered  the  house. 
Those  bits  of  wicker  furniture  could  go  into  some  morn- 
ing room,  cool  and  whitewashed,  with  rush  mats  and  light 
curtains,  for  hot  summer  use. 

When  his  hunger  was  appeased  he  sat  on,  planning  to 
himself  how  the  mansion  could  best  be  modernized,  whilst 
still  retaining  its  old  features,  when  the  sound  of  wheels 
coming  up  the  drive  sent  his  mind  to  other  matters,  and 
made  his  throat  swell  with  a  choking,  excited  sensation. 

He  knew  who  would  be  coming — Desiree,  whose  eyes 


e6o  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

would  rest  on  him  for  the  first  time  full  of  sight.  But, 
thank  God !  she  would  be  thinking  him  his  cousin. 

He  heard  the  carriage  halt.  A  few  moments  later  there 
was  the  sound  of  light  little  feet  entering  the  hall  beyond. 
Then  a  soft  voice  said  with  consternation  and  distress: 

"Oh,  Juliette,  Mr.  Wilson's  cousin  was  not  at  the 
station.  What  can  have  happened  to  him  ?  Can  I  possibly 
have  missed  him?  But  Miss  Ryder  accosted  every  lone 
and  lost-looking  Englishman  there." 

"He's  here,  my  jewel.    He  came  by  an  earlier  train." 

"Here!    Oh,  where?" 

"In  the  dining-room." 

There  was  a  quick  little  movement  in  the  direction  of 
the  half-open  door.  Conscious  of  a  queer  numb  feeling, 
Wilson  got  to  his  feet. 

A  girl  appeared  on  the  threshold,  dressed  in  white 
from  head  to  foot,  with  a  wide,  drooping  hat,  a  long  lace 
veil,  a  string  of  ivory  beads  about  her  throat,  and  ivory 
bracelets  on  her  slim  bare  arms — Desiree,  ten  times  more 
desirable,  fulfilling  all  the  promise  of  the  wraith-like, 
neglected  child  he  had  found. 

Her  face  was  no  longer  thin,  but  delicately  rounded 
and  faintly  pink  with  health;  her  lips  were  no  longer 
pale,  but  coral  red ;  her  eyes  no  longer  vague  and  misty, 
but  limpid  pools  of  soft  dark  blue.  She  did  not  droop 
now;  she  carried  herself  proudly,  looking  taller  than  she 
really  was.  It  seemed  to  Wilson  that  she  towered  above 
him ;  a  princess  truly,  cold,  dainty,  and  imperious. 

Although  her  face  was  more  mature,  it  had  lost  none 
of  its  innocence.  Wistfulness  still  lurked  in  the  curves 
of  the  proud  little  mouth,  and  in  the  soft  blue  eyes  was 
a  thoughtful,  searching  look. 

Wilson  stood  dazed  by  the  vision  of  grace  and  beauty 


EDWARD  WILSON  261 

confronting  him,  knowing  exactly  how  much  he  had  lost 
by  doing  the  "right  thing." 

He  had  tried  to  deal  as  honestly  by  the  girl  he  loved  as 
he  had  dealt  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  And  now 

The  dream  he  had  dreamt  the  night  he  had  slept  at  the 
chateau  had  come  true,  with  some  slight  variations.  She 
was  on  a  throne  high  above  him,  too  high  for  him  to 
reach.  But  he  was  doing  the  weeping — silent,  unseen 
tears  that  agony  wrung  from  his  heart,  because  Fate  had 
decreed  he  could  not  have  the  one  woman  he  wanted. 

Desiree  glanced  at  him  quickly.  There  was  neither 
surprise  nor  disappointment  nor  contempt  in  her  glance, 
as  Wilson  feared  there  might  be.  There  was  only  the 
critical,  searching  look  that  fell  to  the  lot  of  all  strangers 
now. 

Then  she  came  towards  him  with  outstretched  hand. 

"I'm  so  sorry  I  missed  you.  Why  didn't  you  wire  and 
say  you  were  coming  by  an  earlier  train  ?" 

Like  a  man  stunned  Wilson  took  her  hand  into  his. 

"I  should  have  done  so,  Countess,"  he  lied,  "had  I 
known  you  were  coming  to  the  station  to  meet  me." 

At  his  voice  Desiree  started,  and  a  quiver  ran  through 
the  hand  she  was  just  drawing  from  his  relaxing  grip. 

She  gave  one  quick,  startled  look  at  him,  and  then  her 
eyes  dropped. 

The  princess,  gracious  and  imperious,  a  trifle  conde- 
scending, perhaps,  vanished.  In  her  place  came  the 
Desiree  Wilson  knew — a  young  girl,  confused  and  blush- 
ing, with  downcast  eyes,  yet  smiling  at  him  shyly  in  wel- 
come. 

It  was  very  easy  for  Wilson  to  come  pretending  to  be 
his  cousin.  Because  Desiree  had  never  seen  him,  it  did 
not  follow  that  she  would  not  recognize  him.  He  reckoned 


262  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

without  the  years  of  blindness  that  lay  behind  her — years 
that  had  taught  her  to  recognize  people  by  voice  and 
touch  and  step. 

Desiree  knew  her  champion  was  there — the  man  who 
had  come  into  her  night  and  saved  her.  His  was  the 
same  kind,  firm,  pleasant  voice,  the  same  strong,  careful 
grip  on  her  hand.  His  hands,  brown  and  powerful,  had 
led  her  from  darkness  into  light,  had  lifted  her  from 
poverty  to  splendor,  had  kept  dishonor  and  a  loathsome 
marriage  at  bay. 

Paris  had  taught  the  girl  the  value  of  her  own  rank 
and  wealth  and  beauty.  She  wanted  them  all  now,  not 
for  herself,  but  to  lay  at  the  feet  of  her  hero. 

Unable  to  meet  his  gaze,  she  stood  wondering  why  he 
had  come  back  calling  her  "Countess"  instead  of 
"Desiree,"  bringing  with  him  the  feeling  of  an  im- 
measurable gulf  between  them,  they  who  had  once  been 
so  close  that  their  lips  had  touched.  Why  he  had  come 
back  pretending  to  be  his  cousin  ? 

She  wanted  nothing  but  to  fall  on  her  knees  before  him, 
to  kiss  the  hands  that  had  rescued  her  from  darkness, 
misery,  and  disgrace,  to  put  them  on  her  head,  on  her 
heart,  as  a  sign  that  she  was  his  abject  slave. 

But  modesty  forbade  any  such  performance. 

"I  hope  you  will  like  my  house,"  a  soft,  confused  voice 
said.  "And  I  hope  you'll  be  quite  comfortable  here. 
Please  do  ask  for  anything  you  want.  I  shall  be  only 
too  glad  to  get  it,  because  of  all — your  cousin  did  for 
me." 

There  was  only  one  thing  Wilson  wanted — the  Countess 
de  Mailly — and  that  he  dared  not  ask  for. 

"I  like  your  house  immensely,  and  the  whole  surround- 


EDWARD  WILSON  263 

ings.  The  only  thing  I  want  at  present  is  to  get  to  work 
on  it  all  as  soon  as  possible,"  he  said. 

To  compose  herself,  Desiree  turned  from  him  and 
went  to  one  of  the  long  windows  to  let  in  Wolf,  who  was 
scratching  frantically  at  the  glass  panels. 

As  Wilson  watched  her  go,  again  he  cursed  that  fatal 
necklace. 

But  for  it  he  would  be  a  rich  man  still,  standing  on  a 
pile  of  gold  that  raised  him  to  something  approaching 
her  level,  not  what  he  was  now — her  paid  servant. 

If  only  there  had  been  no  railway  strike !  If  only  the 
Gilberts  had  turned  up  in  time  to  have  got  that  accursed 
necklace !  Then 

Bassino  would  have  come  along  to  claim  his  bride. 
Considering  how  Desiree  loathed  the  man,  it  would  not 
have  been  difficult  to  have  persuaded  her  to  elope  with 
him,  Wilson. 

They  would  have  married,  for,  liking  him  and  know- 
ing nothing  of  what  marriage  meant,  she  would  have 
fallen  in  with  his  suggestion  readily.  He  could  have 
taken  her  to  some  quiet,  scented,  out-of-the-way  spot — 
a  new  world  that  had  nothing  in  it  that  she  knew  save 
him ;  where  utter  helplessness  would  have  made  her  cling 
to  him  still  closer. 

There  would  have  been  happy  days  for  the  girl,  safe 
in  the  knowledge  that  he  stood  between  her  and  a  mar- 
riage she  loathed,  relatives  she  disliked,  poverty  and 
neglect;  blissful  days  for  him  with  the  helpless  little  girl 
he  worshiped  to  cherish  and  comfort  and  look  after; 
days  of  strength  and  self-control,  whilst  he  turned  a 
blind  child's  trust  and  liking  into  love,  a  white  passion  to 
match  his  own. 

And  one  evening,  when  he  came  to  her  bedside  to  kiss 


264  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

her  good-night,  she  would  put  her  weak  arms  about  his 
neck,  refusing  to  let  him  go,  pressing  against  him  with 
innocent  desire.  Afterwards  day  and  night  they  would 
be  together,  and  no  world  could  be  dark  where  such  love 
was. 

Then  one  day,  perhaps,  when  she  was  sitting  on  his 
knee,  hugging  one  of  his  hands  to  her  breast,  or  perhaps 
one  morning  early,  when  she  leaned  across  him,  tickling 
his  face  with  the  end  of  one  of  her  long  plaits,  with  the 
idea  of  teasing  him  into  full  wakef ulness,  little  knowing  he 
was  wide  awake  and  watching  her,  rejoicing  that  she  had 
found  happiness  within  his  arms,  it  would  have  occurred 
to  him  to  wonder  why  she  could  not  see,  if  her  eyes  had 
ever  been  examined.  He  would  have  taken  her  to  a 
specialist.  Then,  if  light  meant  disillusion,  a  common- 
place man  instead  of  a  hero,  at  least  he  would  be  her 
husband ;  she  could  not  have  got  away  from  that  fact,  he 
thought,  with  a  touch  of  savagery.  And  she  would  be 
his  now,  this  lovely  girl;  his  by  the  right  of  vows  ex- 
changed and  nights  spent  in  his  arms. 

Into  the  whirl  of  regrets  and  imaginings  in  which 
Wilson  was  moving  Desiree's  voice  came  again. 

"You  must  be  tired  after  your  long  journey.  I  do 
hope  Juliette  looked  after  you  properly." 

Wilson  came  back  to  earth  again.  Desiree  had  not 
eloped  with  him.  He  had  been  fool  enough  to  touch  that 
accursed  "Necklace  of  Tears."  He  had  done  the  right 
thing  by  her  all  along  the  line,  and  his  reward  was  a  crop 
of  bitterness,  not  a  harvest  of  love. 

"Juliette  has  looked  after  me  very  well  indeed,"  he 
said,  surprised  to  find  his  tone  of  voice  quite  normal. 
'She  has  seen  after  all  my  creature  comforts,  even  to 


EDWARD  WILSON  265 

feeding  me,"  he  finished,  glancing  at  the  diminished  heap 
of  sandwiches  on  the  table. 

"I'm  so  glad,"  Desiree  said  shyly,  still  avoiding  his 
gaze.  "I — I  shouldn't  like  to  think  of  you  being  neglected 
in  any  way." 

"It's  you  who  are  being  neglected,  Countess,  not  me. 
I'm  sure  you  must  need  something,  after  your  long,  hot, 
dusty  drive  down  to  Nice  and  back." 

For  a  moment  soft  blue  eyes  met  steady  brown  ones. 

Yes,  this  must  be  the  same  man — John  Wilson,  not 
Edward.  There  was  no  mistake.  There  could  not  be  two 
men  so  kind  and  thoughtful,  with  the  same  firm,  pleasant 
voices,  the  same  strong,  careful  hands. 

But  why  had  he  come  back  as  a  servant  to  his  slave, 
this  man  she  would  call  "master"  ? 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  SECRET 

In  the  kitchen  Juliette  stood,  her  nose  deep  in  some 
pot  in  which  a  dish  was  being  prepared  for  luncheon. 
The  chateau  now  boasted  a  cook  as  well  as  a  housemaid, 
but,  having  done  all  the  cooking  for  years,  Juliette  trusted 
no  one  but  herself.  At  that  moment  the  cook  was  outside 
shelling  peas,  and  the  housemaid  was  busy  in  some  other 
quarter  of  the  dilapidated  mansioa 

The  kitchen  was  more  like  a  long  brick  passage  than 
anything  else,  with  a  wide  stone  slab  running  all  down 
one  side,  and  a  shelf  above,  where  copper  pots  and  pans 
gleamed.  Pairs  of  bricks  stood  at  intervals  down  the 
slab.  Between  each  pair  a  few  sticks  smouldered,  and 
on  them  pans  simmered  and  boiled. 

In  days  of  poverty  Juliette  had  always  cooked  in  this 
fashion.  She  had  produced  excellent  dishes  by  this 
method,  and  her  lips  had  set  in  a  straight,  hard  line  when 
her  mistress  had  mentioned  getting  a  proper  kitchen 
range.  But  the  new  cook  had  agreed  with  her  mistress. 
She  had  never  been  called  upon  to  cook  in  this  gipsy 
fashion,  and  the  countess  must  quite  understand  that  the 
most  perfect  gems  of  her  art  could  not  be  produced  unless 
she  had  a  proper  stove. 

The  Countess  quite  understood.  She  understood  also 
that  there  was  going  to  be  trouble  in  the  kitchen  depart- 
ment. Juliette  was  not  going  to  surrender  the  reins  she 

266 


THE  SECRET  267 

had  held  for  more  than  twenty-one  years  either  into  the 
hands  of  a  newcomer  or  into  those  of  her  mistress. 
Desiree  did  not  feel  equal  to  coping  with  the  situation; 
she  was  torn  between  love  of  the  old  woman  who  had 
served  her  so  faithfully  and  a  desire  to  have  some  say 
in  the  management  of  her  own  house.  A  kitchen  range 
had  been  ordered,  but  where  it  was  going  to  be  put  when 
it  came  the  girl  did  not  know.  All  these  were  problems 
with  which  her  new  steward  would  wrestle. 

As  Juliette  sniffed  scornfully  at  the  gently  simmering 
duck,  to  make  sure  that  the  interloper  had  put  in  the 
exact  proportion  of  onions  and  herbs,  an  excited  voice 
said  all  at  once : 

"Juliette,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  it  was  my  Mr.  Wilson 
who  had  come?" 

"Your  Mr.  Wilson.  What  next,  Comtesse?  Are  you 
going  to  lay  claim  to  every  man  who  comes  to  the  house  ? 
Paris  must  have  turned  your  head." 

"Don't  be  silly.  Don't  try  and  deceive  me.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  he  is  my  Mr.  Wilson." 

"Well,  if  you  say  I  know,  I  suppose  I  must  know,  and 
that  ends  the  matter." 

"But  why  has  he  come  pretending  to  be  his  cousin?" 

"Perhaps  because  he  knows  he's  not  handsome," 
Juliette  suggested  shrewdly. 

"Not  handsome !" 

Desiree's  voice  was  a  soft  shriek  of  denial. 

"Certainly  I  wouldn't  call  him  good  looking,"  the  old 
woman  replied. 

She  sniffed  again  at  the  duck. 

"I'm  sure  that  new  cook  of  yours  has  put  too  much 
onion  in  the  stew,"  she  complained. 

Desiree  ignored  this  side-issue. 


268  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"His  face  is  splendid,"  she  declared,  in  defence  of  her 
hero.  "So  strong  and  kind  and  noble." 

"If  you  think  so,  all  the  better  for  Monsieur  Wilson," 
Juliette  put  in. 

"He  has  a  figure  like  Hercules,"  the  girl  went  on.  "And 
his  hands !  They  are  hands  that  can  do  things,  not  useless 
bits  of  skin  and  bone  like  mine." 

Desiree  threw  out  her  own  small  hands  and  gazed  at 
them  contemptuously. 

"Oh,  Juliette,  just  think  what  he  has  done  for  me,"  she 
cried.  "And  now  he's  afraid  of  me." 

"It's  not  you  he's  afraid  of,  mademoiselle,  but  thanks 
and  a  fuss,"  Juliette  explained.  "The  English  are  always 
like  that.  There  is  nothing  that  nation  hates  more." 

"He's  just  what  I  thought  he  would  be,"  the  girl  de- 
clared, "great  and  noble,  yet  modest  and  humble." 

"Oh,  la,  la!"  Juliette  exclaimed.  "This  Monsieur 
Wilson  has  always  worn  a  halo.  From  the  first  there  was 
nothing  in  the  house  good  enough  for  him." 

Desiree  laid  an  imploring  hand  on  the  old  woman's 
arm. 

"Don't  tell  him  I've  guessed  who  he  really  is,"  she 
pleaded,  "or  he  may  run  away  again." 

Juliette  cast  a  teasing,  affectionate  glance  at  her  mis- 
tress. 

He  was  just  the  man  for  the  Comtesse  Desiree,  who, 
despite  her  years,  was  still  only  a  child,  this  steady-going, 
capable,  English  monsieur.  He  would  not  take  advantage 
of  her  innocence  and  ignorance.  He  would  look  after  the 
girl,  her  money  and  her  estate,  not  squander  her  heritage. 
She  would  be  far  better  married  to  him  than  to  one  of 
those  gay  young  sparks  from  Paris,  who  might  end  up 
by  breaking  her  heart  and  spending  her  fortune. 


THE  SECRET  269 

"A  pretty  comedy  we're  going  to  have,  Comtesse,"  she 
remarked.  "But  still,  it's  your  business,  not  mine,  so 
why  should  I  say  anything?" 

She  turned  again  to  the  stew,  as  if  it  were  of  far  greater 
importance  than  Desiree's  discovery,  and  once  more 
sniffed  at  it  disapprovingly. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  NEW  STEWARD 

Wilson  had  come  back  to  the  Domaine  de  Mailly  deter- 
mined to  do  his  duty  and  avoid  temptation,  but  when  he 
found  temptation  avoiding  him  he  altered  his  tactics  some- 
what. 

He  saw  nothing  more  of  Desiree  that  first  day  except 
at  lunch  and  dinner,  when  she  appeared  in  company  with 
her  governess,  a  staid  person  of  sixty.  At  both  meals 
the  girl  had  very  little  to  say,  leaving  all  the  conversation 
to  him  and  Miss  Ryder,  though  once  or  twice  he  caught 
her  eyes  fixed  on  him — eyes  that  dropped  the  moment  his 
own  came  in  her  direction. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  he  ran  her  to 
earth,  alone  by  the  old  reservoir  with  the  crocodile,  an 
array  of  lesson-books  on  the  old  oil  press  beside  her. 

He  paused,  watching  her  with  eyes  that  held  a  stifled, 
worshiping  gleam. 

"Do  you  know,  Countess,"  he  said,  "that  you've  omitted 
to  tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

With  a  startled  air  she  looked  up  at  him.  She  had  no 
intention  of  telling  him  to  do  anything.  A  slave  does  not 
give  orders  to  a  master. 

"You— you  must  do  just  what  you  like,"  she  faltered. 

"Then  I'd  like  first  of  all  to  get  this  house  comfortable 
for  you." 

"Of  course,  if  you  think  so,"  she  answered  shyly. 
270 


THE  NEW  STEWARD  271 

With  pencil  and  note-book  Wilson  spent  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  in  going  over  and  around  the  old  mansion, 
deciding  how  the  place  could  be  best  done  up  with  the 
least  discomfort  to  the  inmates. 

At  dinner  that  night  he  laid  his  scheme  before  his 
employer. 

"Of  course  it  shall  be  done  like  that,  if  you  like  it  that 
way,"  she  said  when  he  had  finished. 

Then  Wilson  had  to  laugh. 

"But  it's  what  you  like,  Countess,  not  what  I  like. 
You're  master  here,  not  I." 

A  faint  blush  came  to  Desiree's  face,  but  she  made  no 
reply. 

The  next  morning,  since  there  was  no  sign  of  tempta- 
tion, he  sought  for  it  diligently,  eventually  finding  it  in 
one  of  the  moldering  rooms  upstairs,  doing  lessons  with 
Miss  Ryder. 

He  excused  himself  for  intruding,  but  when  he  set  out 
to  do  a  thing  he  liked  to  get  on  with  it. 

Had  he  the  Countess's  permission  to  go  to  Nice  and 
get  estimates  for  the  renovations  from  reliable  firms  of 
builders  ? 

He  had  her  permission,  given  in  a  meek,  small  voice. 

That  morning  Wilson  went  to  Nice,  in  a  mule  cart 
driven  by  old  Pierre,  the  only  conveyance  the  chateau 
possessed.  Desiree  had  not  yet  dared  to  buy  many  things 
for  herself;  the  mule  cart  and  a  couple  of  cows  Juliette 
had  purchased;  both  were  things  the  old  woman  under- 
stood, and  over  which  it  would  have  taken  a  very  clever 
person  to  swindle  her. 

Wilson  was  more  than  two  hours  in  getting  to  Nice,  a 
journey  a  motor  could  have  done  in  a  quarter  of  the 


272  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

time,  and  the  idea  of  the  wasted  hours  irritated  him,  for 
he  wanted  them  all  to  spend  in  Desiree's  service. 

The  next  day  after  lunch  Desiree  would  have  escaped, 
as  she  always  did,  the  moment  the  meal  was  over,  but  as 
he  stood,  holding  the  dining-room  door  open  for  her  and 
Miss  Ryder,  he  said : 

"I  think  we'd  better  begin  by  buying  a  motor  car, 
There's  too  much  time  wasted  in  jogging  up  and  down 
to  Nice  in  that  mule  cart." 

"I  wouldn't  dare  to.  I  should  get  so  'done,'"  she 
confessed,  in  confusion  the  truth  slipping  out. 

Wilson  knew  this  was  more  than  possible,  but  he  had 
no  intention  of  making  the  girl  more  nervous  than  she 
already  was  by  letting  her  see  he  knew  how  utterly  in- 
capable she  was,  for  that  confession  betrayed  that  she 
had  been  "done"  not  once,  but  several  times. 

"I  can  come  with  you  and  see  that  that  doesn't  hap- 
pen," he  answered.  "What  sort  of  a  car  would  you  like?" 

Only  just  in  time  she  remembered  not  to  say  "one  like 
yours." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  responded,  anxious  that  her 
champion  should  have  exactly  what  he  liked,  since  he 
appeared  to  have  put  aside  money  and  luxury  in  order 
to  come  and  be  her  servant. 

"How  would  it  suit  you  if  we  got  old  Pierre  to  drive 
us  to  Nice  to-morrow  morning  and  had  a  look  at  some  ?" 
he  inquired. 

"That  would  suit  me  all  right,"  she  said. 

The  matter  being  arranged,  Desiree  would  have  slipped 
away  there  and  then,  but  again  his  voice  stopped  her. 

"When  you  have  time  I  should  like  you  to  show  me 
round  the  estate,  so  that  I  can  get  some  idea  how  much 
there  really  is  of  it,  and  what  should  be  done." 


THE  NEW  STEWARD  273 

"I  can  come  any  time,"  she  said  submissively. 

"Then  perhaps  we  can  go  now,"  he  answered,  delighted 
with  himself  at  having  enticed  her  out  for  a  walk. 

She  vanished,  to  appear  in  the  hall  some  minutes  later 
with  a  big  drooping  hat  on  her  head,  and  a  green  parasol 
to  screen  and  shade  her  eyes  from  the  sun. 

With  Wolf  at  their  heels  they  set  out. 

As  they  went  down  the  wide  marble  steps  of  the 
terrace  together,  Wilson  heard  that  the  highroad  bounded 
her  property  on  one  side,  and  that  it  extended  deep  into 
the  hills  and  valleys,  in  the  shape  of  a  gigantic  horseshoe. 

Desiree  took  him  through  the  tangled  garden,  out  on  the 
earthy  terrace  where  her  carnations  grew,  down  a  steep 
hillside,  coming  eventually  to  a  narrow  way,  half  lane, 
half  footpath,  that  meandered  up  and  down,  through  olive 
groves  and  pine  woods,  past  orchards  and  vineyards, 
among  groups  of  fig  and  orange  and  lemon  trees,  round 
palms  and  cypresses,  which  he  learned  was  the  boundary 
of  her  estate. 

As  they  walked  together,  now  in  sunshine,  now  in 
shade,  in  a  world  full  of  flowers,  and  sweet  with  the  scent 
of  broom,  wild  thyme,  lavender,  and  roses,  for  the  nonce 
Wilson  forgot  they  were  mistress  and  servant.  There 
was  such  a  feeling  of  fellowship  and  equality,  as  if  what 
was  lacking  in  one  was  balanced  by  the  other. 

John  Wilson,  the  lover,  would  not  admit  that  the 
princess  had  any  shortcomings.  But  John  Wilson,  a  wise 
and  sensible  man,  who  had  lived  through  a  sudden,  wild 
infatuation  to  a  deep,  steady,  abiding  love,  and  a  clear 
vision  of  his  ideal,  knew  the  girl  lacked  stamina,  strength, 
and  will-power,  and  that  she  tried  to  make  up  for  these 
deficiencies  with  an  intense  pride,  and  anyone  cruel 
enough  to  pull  down  that  barrier  would  find  behind  it  only 


274  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

a  helpless  child,  totally  unfitted  and  unable  to  cope  with 
the  world  and  the  people  in  it. 

He  had  so  much  stamina,  strength,  and  will-power 
himself  that  her  lack  of  these  qualities  did  not  trouble 
him.  He  worried  over  what  Desiree  had  that  he  had  not 
— birth  and  breeding  and  money — too  humble  before  his 
goddess  to  realize  that  his  lack  of  these  attributes  would 
not  trouble  her,  provided  she  really  loved  him. 

The  estate  proved  to  be  more  extensive  than  he  had 
imagined.  When  they  had  walked  about  two  miles  he 
called  a  halt.  They  sat  down  on  a  grassy  bank,  the  dog 
stretched  at  their  feet. 

"Have  we  much  farther  to  go  ?"  he  asked. 

"It's  about  five  English  miles  all  the  way  round,"  she 
replied. 

As  Desiree  talked  she  did  not  look  at  Wilson,  but  at 
the  dog,  for  Wolf  looked  at  her  with  the  same  steady 
brown  eyes  as  the  man,  in  the  same  faithful  worshiping 
way. 

"Can  you  walk  so  far?"  he  asked,  all  concern.  When 
he  had  inveigled  her  out  with  him  he  had  had  no  idea  the 
walk  would  be  so  long. 

Never  at  any  time  in  her  life  had  Desiree  walked  five 
miles  on  end,  but  she  was  sure  she  could  do  it  now,  for 
there  was  a  strange  feeling  of  being  able  to  draw  strength 
from  her  companion. 

"I  think  so,"  she  said.  "I'm  not  at  all  tired  yet." 

After  a  few  minutes'  rest  the  walk  went  on  again. 

The  girl  was  all  eyes  for  the  things  around  her.  The 
most  ordinary  of  birds  and  butterflies  and  flowers  were 
a  delight  to  her,  something  to  which  to  call  Wilson's 
attention.  He  always  responded  heartily,  remembering 
she  had  only  been  able  to  see  them  for  a  few  months. 


THE  NEW  STEWARD  275 

Occasionally  a  crumbling  house  was  reached,  in  which 
he  learned  that  in  her  grandfather's  wealthy  days  the 
people  connected  with  the  estate  had  lived.  Whilst  she 
rested  he  went  over  the  decaying  dwellings,  to  see  if 
they  could  be  made  habitable  again. 

Wilson  was  the  type  of  man  who  could  make  a  success 
of  anything  that  needed  a  pair  of  strong  hands,  with  a 
masterly  brain  behind  them.  He  intended  to  do  his 
best  for  Desiree,  as  he  always  had  done;  to  make  her 
property  pay  its  way,  to  be  a  faithful  steward.  By  now 
he  realized  she  was  not  going  to  issue  orders,  but  was 
leaving  the  whole  thing  entirely  to  him. 

"There'll  be  no  tea  for  you  to-day,"  he  remarked,  after 
leaving  one  of  the  ruined  houses,  "unless  we  happen  to 
drop  across  some  friendly  cottage." 

Desiree  was  talking  to  him  freely  now.  During  the 
walk  it  seemed  as  if  the  gulf  had  been  bridged — that  they 
were  quite  close  together  again. 

"There's  no  friendly  cottage  to  drop  across,"  she  re- 
plied. "The  nearest  inhabited  place  is  still  the  chateau. 
But  there's  plenty  of  fruit.  Anything  that  grows  on  this 
side  we  can  have,"  she  finished,  waving  a  hand  to  the 
right  of  them." 

In  the  shade  of  a  trio  of  somber  cypresses  they  feasted 
on  red  cherries  and  yellow  loquats  that  Wilson  had  gath- 
ered from  the  abundance  around,  and  for  his  sake 
Desiree  regretted  that  another  week  or  two  must  pass 
before  the  peaches  and  apricots  would  be  ripe  enough 
for  eating. 

"And  after  that  there  will  be  pears,"  she  said.  "Any 
quantity  of  them.  And  then  figs  by  the  ton.  And  grapes, 
but  not  many  of  those.  The  vineyards  have  been  neg- 


276  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

lected  for  so  long  that  they  are  utterly  ruined.  And  then 
come  oranges  and  lemons  again." 

"You  ought  to  sell  your  fruit,"  he  remarked. 

"I've  so  much  money  now  that  I  don't  want  any  more. 
Jufiette  is  bottling  some  of  the  fruit  and  making  jam  and 
giving  a  lot  away.  But  I  shouldn't  care  to  sell  it,  now 
that  I'm  so  well  off." 

"But  it's  far  better  to  sell  it  than  let  it  go  to  waste. 
Every  pound  of  cherries  or  peaches  or  figs  or  oranges 
that  you  put  on  the  market  automatically  makes  cherries 
and  peaches  and  figs  and  oranges  cheaper  for  the  rest  of 
the  world.  If  you  want  to  grow  food  you  must  sell  it. 
If  there's  any  one  corner  of  your  estate  less  beautiful 
than  another,  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  put  up  a  fruit 
bottling  and  jam  factory.  Then  all  these  tons  of  fruit 
won't  be  going  to  waste.  And  we'll  have  people  out  from 
Nice  to  work  for  us — bring  them  up  every  morning  and 
take  them  back  every  evening  in  a  motor-lorry — a  day  in 
the  country  they'll  be  paid  for,  instead  of  having  to  pay 
for  themselves.  And  the  lorry  will  do  to  take  our  produce 
down  in,  and  to  bring  back  stores. 

As  Wilson  talked,  interested  in  his  scheme,  with  the 
feeling  of  "oneness"  that  being  alone  with  Desiree  had 
brought,  he  did  not  say  "you"  and  "your"  to  his  em- 
ployer, but  "we"  and  "our."  This  seemed  so  natural  to 
Desiree  that  she  did  not  notice  it.  She  looked  at  him  with 
wondering  gaze,  marveling  at  the  rapidly  developed 
scheme. 

"It  sounds  very  nice,  but  I  couldn't  do  it,"  she  con- 
fessed. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  could.  It's  little  things  like  that 
that  I'm  here  to  look  after." 


THE  NEW  STEWARD  277 

"What  would  you  call  a  big  thing?"  she  asked,  in  an 
awed  tone  of  voice. 

"Well,  to  run  thfe  estate  as  it  should  be  run,  and  to 
make  it  support  itself  and  the  home  for  blind  babies." 

Wilson  said  it  with  a  sort  of  relish,  as  if  he  enjoyed 
the  task  ahead  of  him.  Like  many  a  man,  he  did  not 
crave  so  much  for  a  life  of  leisure  and  amusement  as  for 
congenial  occupation.  He  wanted  work,  but  work  that 
he  really  liked  and  that  interested  him,  and  in  managing 
Desiree's  estate  he  had  it. 

And  she  admired  her  companion  all  the  more. 

He  was  a  man  who  could  tackle  big  things,  and  look 
as  if  he  enjoyed  the  prospect,  instead  of  being  scared  out 
of  his  life  at  the  mere  idea,  as  she  would  be.  She  could 
not  even  tackle  her  own  household.  There  was  a  strike 
on  there  now. 

Both  Juliette  and  the  cook  had  refused  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  English  breakfast  which  she  had  ordered 
for  her  hero,  a  breakfast  of  porridge  and  bacon  and  eggs, 
such  as  she  had  gathered  from  Mrs.  Green  all  English 
people  had. 

Eggs,  yes ;  both  the  cook  and  Juliette  could  understand 
a  man  having  a  boiled  egg  with  his  first  dejeuner.  But 
whoever  heard  of  a  civilized  person  eating  pudding  and 
meat  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  ? 

"If  this  English  monsieur  is  to  have  pudding  and  meat 
with  his  breakfast,  then  mademoiselle  will  have  to  cook 
them  herself,"  the  cook  had  declared. 

And  Juliette  had  seconded  this  motion,  for  once  siding 
with  her  rival.  If  things  went  on  like  this  the  Comtesse 
would  be  expecting  them  to  cook  a  dinner  with  seven  or 
eight  courses  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning!  Any  idea 
of  the  sort  must  be  nipped  in  the  bud. 


278  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Wilson  breakfasted  in  the  dining-room,  in  solitary 
state,  in  an  English  manner,  on  porridge  and  bacon  and 
eggs.  But  he  little  knew  who  had  cooked  it.  Desiree, 
with  painful  effort  and  burnt  fingers,  determined  that  her 
hero  should  be  fed  after  the  manner  of  his  nation.  She 
did  for  him  what  she  would  not  have  dared  to  do  for  her- 
self. She  braved  a  couple  of  irate  and  refractory  women 
who  stood  in  the  kitchen  whilst  she  cooked  his  breakfast, 
sneering  at  her  attempts,  criticizing  her  methods. 

However,  she  said  nothing  of  this  to  Wilson.  A  man 
so  capable  would  think  her  a  poor  creature  since  she  could 
not  exact  obedience  from  her  own  menials. 

She  put  the  matter  completely  out  of  her  mind,  refusing 
to  let  the  painful  morning  scene  mar  the  happiness  of  the 
moment. 

There  was  a  brief  silence  during  which  cherries  and 
loquats  were  demolished. 

All  at  once  Desiree  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her  compan- 
ion. Then  she  averted  her  face  so  that  he  should  not  see 
the  soft  little  smile  that  came  to  her  lips,  in  spite  of  all 
efforts — the  smile  of  a  girl  about  to  tease  her  lover. 

"Mr.  Wilson,  is  your  cousin  anything  like  you?"  a 
demure  voice  asked  presently,  with  an  undercurrent  of 
mischief  in  it. 

The  question  made  Wilson  wriggle  uncomfortably, 
suddenly  brought  face  to  face  with  his  own  deception  and 
the  unflattering  image  of  himself  he  always  conjured  up 
when  thinking  of  himself  in  connection  with  Desiree. 

"He's  a  very  ordinary  sort,"  he  answered,  in  as  casual 
a  tone  as  he  could  command  at  the  moment. 

Then  his  gaze  went  to  the  girl  beside  him,  with  her 
small  hands  full  of  red  cherries,  the  big  hat  shading  her 
perfect  face. 


THE  NEW  STEWARD  279 

"What  do  you  imagine  him  to  be  like?"  he  asked, 
wanting  to  find  out  what  her  idea  of  him  really  was. 

"He's  not  very  tall,"  she  answered  gravely;  "about  as 
tall  as  you,  I  should  say.  And  he's  awfully  good-looking ; 
his  face  is  so  strong  and  firm  and  kind.  He  has  a  figure 
like  Hercules,  and  such  nice  hands — the  hands  of  a  man 
who  can  do  things.  And  I  know  there's  not  a  greater  or 
more  noble  man  on  this  earth  than  my  Mr.  Wilson,"  she 
finished  earnestly. 

Inwardly  Wilson  groaned. 

It  was  as  he  had  always  suspected  and  feared.  In  her 
mind  she  had  some  glorified,  impossible  hero  masquerad- 
ing as  himself.  More  than  ever  was  he  glad  he  had  come 
back  as  his  cousin. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU 

The  next  morning  Wilson  was  up  rather  earlier  than 
usual.  There  were  one  or  two  matters  he  wanted  to  go 
into  before  he  took  Desiree  to  Nice  in  quest  of  a  car. 
By  now  he  knew  every  inch  of  the  old  chateau,  and,  as  a 
short  cut  to  his  bedroom  to  wash  his  hands  prior  to  break- 
fast, he  passed  in  by  the  back  premises. 

The  door  of  the  passage-like  kitchen  stood  slightly 
ajar,  and  from  it  issued  the  smell  and  sound  of  frizzling 
bacon.  Kitchen  accommodation  was  one  of  the  many 
problems  with  which  Wilson  had  to  deal ;  the  present  one 
was  wholly  inadequate  for  the  mansion  as  it  would  be 
after  the  contemplated  changes  were  made.  A  new  wing 
would  have  to  be  built  on,  with  a  kitchen  and  a  servants' 
hall,  and,  above,  the  most  up-to-date  of  bathrooms  and 
extra  bedrooms. 

All  this  he  was  thinking  as  he  entered  the  house.  Then 
through  the  half -open  door  he  saw  something  that  took 
his  mind  to  other  matters,  and  which  had  for  him  the 
fascination  and  drawing  powers  of  a  magnet  for  a  needle. 

Between  two  of  the  pairs  of  bricks  Desiree  stood,  with 
a  ridiculously  small  frilled  apron  tied  about  her  waist,  a 
knife  in  one  hand,  a  frown  on  her  brow,  her  attention 
divided  between  simmering  porridge  and  a  pan  in  which 
rashers  of  bacon  were  frying.  Close  by  Juliette  and  the 
cook  stood,  flushed  and  rebellious  looking,  both  with 

280 


THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU     281 

tightly  pursed  lips,  one  watching  the  coffee  and  the  other 
making  the  toast. 

"Are  you  having  a  cooking  lesson,  Countess?"  Wilson 
asked  in  English. 

His  voice  made  the  knife  drop  from  her  hand  to  the 
stone  floor  with  a  sharp  clatter. 

"No,  I'm  showing  Juliette  and  cook  how  to  do  eggs 
and  bacon  and  make  porridge  in  the  English  manner," 
she  answered  bravely,  terrified  lest  he  should  find  out  her 
incompetence  and  despise  her. 

Wilson  felt  like  asking  from  what  source  she  had  got 
her  own  knowledge,  but  he  desisted.  Also  it  seemed  to 
him  the  women  were  not  taking  much  notice  of  their  in- 
structress ;  they  had  had  their  backs  half  turned  towards 
her,  and  had  been  ignoring  her  completely  until  his  voice 
had  startled  them  into  attention. 

He  glanced  from  the  strained  little  face  before  him  to 
the  grim  set  faces  of  the  two  women,  and  smiled  slightly. 

Being  a  healthy  man,  he  enjoyed  his  meals,  but  he 
never  gave  a  thought  as  to  who  had  prepared  them, 
Now  it  dawned  on  him  that  the  three  breakfasts  he  had 
had  at  the  chateau  had  been  cooked  by  Desiree.  He 
wished  he  had  known  this  fact  sooner,  so  that  he  could 
have  appreciated  them  more.  For  all  that,  he  hated  to 
see  the  child  in  unlovely  surroundings,  or  worried  over 
domestic  matters.  It  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  joy  and 
beauty  and  happiness  in  the  world  could  not  recompense 
her  for  the  dark,  miserable  years  she  had  lived  through. 
And  it  had  very  quickly  dawned  on  him  that  there  was 
trouble  between  mistress  and  maids. 

"Well,  Juliette  and  cook  must  be  very  slow  in  learning, 
if  you  still  have  to  show  them  how  to  cook  an  English 
breakfast,"  he  remarked  in  broken  French. 


282  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

His  comment  had  the  effect  he  intended.  It  made  the 
two  women  bridle  at  this  slur  on  their  intelligence.  More- 
over, there  was  a  note  in  his  voice  that  said  he  was  going 
to  have  no  nonsense — that  they  had  now  to  deal  with  a 
man  who  intended  to  be  master,  not  a  nervous  and  easily 
bullied  mistress. 

"Mademoiselle  la  Comtesse  won't  trust  me,  monsieur," 
the  cook  said  haughtily,  "although  I  can  fry  eggs  and 
bacon  far  better  than  Juliette." 

"Indeed  you  can't,"  Juliette  cried,  snatching  a  knife 
and  elbowing  Desiree  aside.  "In  days  gone  by  I  have 
often  fried  eggs  and  bacon  and  made  a  pudding  of  oats. 
They  were  favorite  luncheon  dishes  with  the  old  Count 
de  Mailly.  Run  along,  ma  petite/'  she  finished,  turning, 
all  smiles,  to  Desiree.  "Old  Juliette  will  do  this  for  you 
every  morning  since  you  can't  trust  your  new  cook.** 

"Can't  trust  me,  indeed!"  the  cook  flared.  "It's  you 
that's  forever  poking  your  nose  into  things  I'm  cooking, 
taking  off  lids  and  spoiling  the  flavor,  prying  and  interfer- 
ing." 

"I  should  think  I  don't  trust  you  and  your  new-fangled 
ways  and  your  kitchen  stoves,"  Juliette  shrieked.  "I've 
cooked  like  this  for  forty  years,  and  if  it's  good  enough 
for  me,  it's  good  enough  for  you." 

Helplessly  Desiree  glanced  at  Wilson.  It  had  come  at 
last,  what  she  had  been  daily  expecting  and  dreading — 
a  battle  royal  between  her  old  servant  and  the  new  one. 

"No,  Juliette,  it's  not  good  enough  for  you,"  Wilson's 
voice  broke  in  firmly  and  quietly,  speaking  rather  slowly 
in  broken  French.  "You  don't  suppose  that,  after  all  your 
years  of  faithful  service,  your  mistress  would  be  content 
to  let  you  stay  here  still  working?  With  your  knowledge 
of  poultry  and  cows,  of  butter  and  cheese-making,  you're 


THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU     283 

to  have  charge  of  a  model  dairy  the  Countess  is  going  to 
have  built,  with  three  dairy  maids  under  you." 

(This  was  the  first  time  Desiree  had  heard  of  the 
dairy.) 

"And  me,  monsieur,  shall  I  be  expected  to  stay  here 
and  cook  on  bricks  and  sticks  like  a  vagabond  ?"  the  cook 
asked.  "I  would  have  you  know  that  I've  cooked  for 
ladies  with  higher  titles  and  bigger  incomes  than  Made- 
moiselle la  Comtesse." 

"Your  mistress  is  going  to  have  an  up-to-date  kitchen 
built,  with  a  proper  kitchen  range,  and  you  are  to  have 
a  couple  of  kitchen  maids.  But  we  must  all  have  patience. 
These  things  can't  be  done  in  five  minutes. 

The  two  women  quieted  down,  looking  at  each  other 
now,  not  as  rivals,  but  as  heads  of  departments. 

Wilson  left  the  kitchen.  With  fluttering  heart  and 
trembling  hands  Desiree  followed  him,  fearing  he  had 
found  out  her  utter  incapability. 

"If  there's  any  trouble  in  the  kitchen  department  again, 
Countess,  tell  me  at  once,"  he  remarked,  when  they  were 
out  of  earshot  of  the  place.  "I'm  more  used  to  dealing 
with  people  than  you  are.  And  there's  almost  bound  to 
be  trouble  when  a  servant  has  been  supreme  in  a  house  as 
long  as  Juliette  has." 

"Oh,  don't  scold  her,"  the  girl  said  quickly,  all  fears 
now  for  the  old  woman  she  loved. 

"I  wouldn't  dream  of  it,"  he  answered.  "That's  why  I 
gave  her  a  job  outside  of  the  house  that'll  keep  her  mind 
employed,  and  not  mean  much  work." 

Desiree  loved  and  admired  her  champion  more  than 
ever. 

"I  never  knew  anyone  so  clever  as  you,"  she  said. 
"You  sorted  them  out  beautifully." 


284  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

He  was  even  more  clever  than  she  imagined,  for  he 
gave  no  hint  that  he  was  aware  how  incapable  she 
was. 

Juliette's  remark  about  "luncheon  dishes"  had  given 
Wilson  the  clue  to  the  girl's  presence  in  the  kitchen. 

"And  don't  you  bother  about  introducing  new  customs 
for  me,"  he  said.  "Why  can't  I  have  just  coffee  and  rolls 
on  the  terrace,  under  the  loquat  tree,  as  I  had — as  I  hear 
you  have  sometimes,"  he  finished  in  the  same  breath. 

Every  minute  of  the  day  Desiree  wanted  to  be  with 
him.  She  welcomed  the  idea  of  a  tete-a-tcte  breakfast 
on  the  terrace,  but  she  wanted  him  to  have  the  things  to 
which  he  was  accustomed  and  which  he  liked. 

"I'd  like  you  to  have  exactly  what  you'd  have  if  you 
were  at  home,"  she  said. 

"If  I  were  at  home  I  should  have  coffee  and  boiled 
eggs  and  fruit  for  my  breakfast,  and  if  it  were  fine  enough 
I  should  eat  it  in  the  garden,"  he  said  untruthfully. 

That  same  morning  Wilson  had  breakfast  on  the 
terrace  with  Desiree.  The  scent  of  flowers  and  dew  came 
up  from  the  tangled  garden,  where  bees  buzzed  drowsily, 
as  they  had  done  four  months  before  when  she  had  given 
him  shelter  in  the  ruined  castle.  His  employer  had  not 
much  to  say.  She  was  thinking  of  all  that  had  happened 
since  then,  and  what  her  fate  would  have  been  if  he  had 
not  come  into  her  life. 

When  the  meal  was  finished  he  said : 

"As  soon  as  you're  ready,  Countess,  we'll  set  out  on 
the  track  of  a  car." 

She  went  up  to  her  room,  wishing  he  would  call  her 
Desiree,  and  she  wanted  above  all  things  to  call  him  John. 
It  was  the  nicest  name  a  man  could  have,  and  it  sounded 
just  like  him — firm  and  kind  and  strong  and  good. 


THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU     285 

This  time  Wilson  did  not  find  the  drive  down  to  Nice 
at  all  long.  Desiree  was  beside  him,  her  soft  voice  talking, 
her  small  hands  pointing  to  this  and  that  wondrous  view. 
And  he  could  only  watch  her,  rejoicing  in  her  sight  as 
much  as  she  herself  did. 

He  knew  Nice  well  now,  that  white  town  by  a  blue 
sea,  set  in  the  midst  of  green  trees,  within  a  semi-circle 
of  gray  mountains  that  the  sun  turned  into  mounds  of 
gold;  where  the  fairy  tale  had  been  played  out,  leaving 
him  the  loser.  But  he  did  not  let  his  mind  dwell  on  his 
loss.  He  had  work  before  him  now — to  serve  the  princess 
faithfully. 

After  lunch  they  went  to  one  of  the  principal  motor 
agencies  in  the  town.  Once  in  the  showroom,  Wilson 
did  not  trouble  Desiree  about  the  matter.  He  looked  at 
the  various  cars,  examining  their  intricate  parts,  knowing 
exactly  what  type  and  style  would  be  best  suited  to  her 
purpose. 

Desiree  watched  him,  saying  nothing.  She  loved  to  see 
him  dealing  with  men  and  things  in  his  calm,  capable 
manner,  as  he  had  dealt  with  her  and  the  terrors  and 
darkness  in  which  he  had  found  her. 

Above  all  things,  she  wanted  to  put  her  hands  on  his 
arm  and  squeeze  it — squeeze  hard  and  deep  into  the 
swelling  muscles  beneath.  The  world  had  become  so 
safe  and  delightful  now  he  had  come  back,  with  his 
strength  and  kind,  unruffled  ways. 

A  car  was  finally  decided  on.  There  was  a  trial  run. 
On  their  return  Wilson  said : 

"Now,  Countess,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  make  out  a 
check." 

"That's  about  all  I'm  capable  of  doing,''  she  confessed. 

He  smiled  down  at  her.     Desiree  no  longer  towered 


286  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

above  him.  She  had  got  back  to  her  right  height,  three 
inches  less  than  he  was. 

"It's  a  very  useful  accomplishment,"  he  replied. 

They  drove  back  in  state,  leaving  Pierre  to  bring  up 
the  mule  cart. 

When  the  chateau  was  reached,  Desiree  did  not  imme- 
diately leave  her  steward.  She  hovered  round,  watching 
him  garage  the  car  in  the  old  stables.  He  went  about  the 
task  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  loves  the  car  he  is  driving, 
steering  it  carefully,  so  as  to  get  no  chip  or  flaw  on  its 
newness. 

"Do  you  like  the  car?"  she  asked,  when  it  was  safely 
stalled  and  he  came  to  her  side. 

Wilson  loved  a  really  good  motor,  and  there  was  a  note 
in  the  girl's  voice  as  if  she  considered  the  new  purchase 
much  more  his  than  hers.  It  took  him  all  his  time  to 
keep  his  finger  off  that  delicately  rounded  cheek  and  from 
asking  teasingly: 

"Do  you  like  it,  Desiree  ?" 

But  he  remembered  they  were  mistress  and  servant 
now,  she  with  £10,000  a  year  and  a  title,  he,  a  man  who 
had  come  up  from  the  gutter,  with  only  £300  a  year,  and 
that  of  her  giving. 

"Yes,  I  like  it,"  he  said  soberly,  "and  a  car  is  a  neces- 
sity when  you  live  so  far  away  from  civilization." 

"Don't  you  like  the  country?"  she  asked,  a  touch  of 
alarm  in  her  voice. 

"Personally  I  prefer  the  wilds,"  he  answered.  "But 
to  run  a  place  like  this  properly  you  must  have  something 
to  get  you  in  touch  with  the  world  quickly.  And  this  car 
will  do  it  in  about  half  an  hour,  if  we  ignore  the  speed 
limit." 


THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU     287 

Wilson  preferred  the  country  more  and  more  as  the 
days  went  on. 

Before  a  fortnight  had  passed  he  had  men  digging  up 
the  weed-grown  terraces  on  the  hillsides,  and  bricklayers 
and  carpenters  at  work  on  the  house.  Twice  a  week  he 
went  down  to  Nice,  to  a  college  of  agriculture,  to  learn 
how  things  were  grown  in  that  part  of  France,  so  that 
he  could  serve  his  princess  better ;  to  see  plans  connected 
with  her  house,  and  the  home  for  blind  babies  that  was  to 
be  built  in  the  sweetest  corner  of  her  wilderness  of  an 
estate,  and  the  factory  for  which  he  had  found  a  spot 
where  it  would  not  prove  an  eyesore. 

When  the  various  contracts  were  drawn  up  he  would 
bring  them  to  his  employer. 

"Well,  Countess,  this  is  a  fair  price  for  things  nowa- 
days," he  would  say,  "so  if  it's  agreeable  to  you  we'll  close 
with  this  offer." 

"If  you  say  it's  all  right,  of  course  it  must  be,"  she 
would  reply,  in  the  old  trustful  way  that  always  thrilled 
him. 

And  she  always  wondered  why  he  was  content  to  be 
her  servant  when  he  could  be  her  master,  and  how  much 
longer  the  farce  would  have  to  be  kept  up.  She  had 
written  one  letter  to  John  Wilson  in  England,  saying  how 
pleased  and  delighted  she  was  with  his  cousin.  In  every 
way  a  girl  could,  she  encouraged  him,  waiting  for  the 
days  when,  in  his  arms,  she  could  tell  him  she  had  always 
known  he  was  John  Wilson,  not  Edward. 

With  his  fountain  pen  she  would  put  "Desiree  de 
Mailly"  at  the  foot  of  bewildering  columns  of  figures  and 
confusing  sentences,  and  leave  the  rest  to  him. 

Wilson  rejoiced  that  he  was  there  to  come  between 
her  and  all  sordid  matters.  Best  above  all  he  loved  to 


288  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

watch  her  wandering  about  in  her  own  grounds,  seeing 
sights  and  beauties  that  for  twenty-one  years  had  been 
denied  her.  During  his  months  in  England  he  had  often 
wondered  into  what  she  would  develop  when  she  had 
sight  and  money — the  unfoimed,  ignorant  child  who  had 
made  love  and  passion  flame  up  in  him  for  the  first  time. 
And  now  he  knew  her  for  what  she  was — a  quiet,  thought- 
ful, home-loving  girl,  anxious  to  do  good  and  be  good  to 
all  around  her,  as  beautiful  in  character  as  in  face,  a  gem 
among  women. 

Often  when  he  was  up  on  the  old  tower  of  the  chateau 
superintending  the  renovations,  he  would  espy  a  little 
patch  of  white  somewhere  in  the  green  below — Desiree 
standing  entranced  with  the  beauty  of  the  world  in  which 
she  lived.  Every  corner  of  the  Domaine  de  Mailly  gave 
some  glorious  view  of  sea  or  mountain,  deep  valley  and 
rounded  hills.  Eve  let  loose  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  could 
not  have  been  more  interested  in  the  things  of  her  Maker's 
creating  than  the  girl  who  wandered  so  happily  in  the 
grounds  of  her  own  home. 

Occasionally,  when  he  was  in  the  midst  of  instructing 
an  army  of  workmen,  a  soft,  excited  voice  would  say  : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Wilson,  do  come  and  see  what  I've  found." 

No  matter  how  busy  he  might  be,  that  request  was  a 
command. 

He  would  be  taken  to  some  spot  in  the  spreading 
grounds  and  shown,  perhaps,  half  a  dozen  tree  frogs 
crouched  asleep  on  a  bough,  one  after  the  other,  like  the 
train  of  ivory  elephants  one  sees  carved  on  a  tusk,  little 
bright  green  things  with  gilded  eyes,  looking  as  if  made 
of  india  rubber,  that  Desiree  would  touch,  making  one 
golden  eye  open  lazily  and  close  again,  as  if  the  owner 
were  aware  no  harm  would  come  to  it  from  the  hand 


THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU     289 

that  caressed  it  so  gently.  Or  the  call  might  be  merely 
to  see  a  gray  lizard,  or  a  grasshopper  about  three  inches 
long,  or  a  tiny  black  scorpion,  or  a  huge  bronze  beetle, 
or  a  woodpecker  at  work  on  a  tree,  or  a  train  of  brown 
ants  marching  along  a  path,  two  abreast,  for  all  the  world 
like  a  minute,  endless  army,  or  an  array  of  brown  and 
green  frogs  disporting  themselves  in  one  of  the  old  irriga- 
tion tanks — pretty  little  fellows,  full  of  droll  antics,  who 
acted  as  if  their  one  aim  in  life  were  to  amuse  the  girl 
who  had  been  so  long  in  darkness ;  frogs  that  filled  each 
of  the  warm  nights  with  their  croaking. 

When  the  excited  little  voice  reached  Wilson,  it  needed 
great  self-control  on  his  part  not  to  say: 

"Well,  Eve,  what  is  it  now?" 

But  wonderful  as  were  all  the  flowers  and  trees,  the 
birds,  beasts,  and  fishes  to  Desiree,  there  was  nothing 
in  the  vast  scheme  of  nature  to  compare  with  the  man 
who  had  come  into  her  darkness,  bringing  light. 

When  the  sun  set  over  the  mountains,  turning  their 
hard  grayness  into  velvet  softness,  painting  the  sky  with 
orange  and  rose  and  amber  and  vivid  green,  making  the 
old  tanks  into  glittering  jewels,  the  distant  sea  a  fallen 
rainbow,  it  was  wonderful,  something  to  clasp  hands  in 
ecstasy  over,  to  look  at  with  marveling  eyes.  But  it  was 
not  so  wonderful  as  "my  Mr.  Wilson." 

When  night  rose  like  a  mist  from  the  landscape,  swal- 
lowing up  first  the  sea,  then  the  valleys,  making  the 
mountains  but  deep  shadows  against  an  indigo  sky  where 
silver  stars  flashed — stars  that  seemed  to  have  showered 
down  to  earth  in  the  fireflies  that/swarmed  in  the  garden 
and  danced  about  the  trees  like  tiny  silver  lamps — it  was 
marvelous,  a  scene  to  watch  with  rapt  eyes.  But  it  was 
not  so  marvelous  as  "my  Mr.  Wilson." 


290  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

In  the  dim  gold  of  evening,  when  the  angelus  sounded 
softly  from  a  distant  village,  sending  the  workmen  to 
their  homes,  bringing  dinner  out  on  the  chateau  terrace — 
the  one  hour  of  the  day  when  the  gnarled  old  olives  lost 
their  gray  look  and  took  on  a  tender  green  against  the 
blue-gray  of  the  sky — when  the  first  of  the  frogs  started 
croaking  in  the  ponds  and  tanks  around,  and  bats  flew 
like  little  ghosts  in  the  gloaming,  the  peace  and  beauty  of 
it  all  almost  made  one  weep.  But  tears  of  gratitude  more 
often  sparkled  in  Desiree's  eyes.  But  for  "my  Mr. 
Wilson"  she  would  never  have  seen  night  settle  so  softly 
upon  the  earth. 

It  was  delightful,  too,  to  wander  with  him  after  dinner 
in  the  garden  in  the  moonlight,  when  the  world  was  a 
place  of  ebony  and  silver,  and  the  mountains  loomed  like 
nightrack  on  the  horizon— to  go  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  old  irrigation  tanks,  to  strike  their  stone  walls  with 
a  stick  and  silence  all  the  croakers. 

But  droll  and  delightful  as  those  frogs  were,  afraid  of 
her,  Desiree,  who  would  rather  have  died  than  intention- 
ally injure  one  of  them,  they  were  not  so  droll  and  de- 
lightful as  "my  Mr.  Wilson." 

"My  Mr.  Wilson  is  so  amusing,"  Desiree  said  to  him 
one  night  as  they  strolled  in  the  moonlight  with  Wolf  as 
a  chaperon. 

Wilson  wondered  what  had  given  her  this  impression. 
He  knew  he  had  made  one  or  two  idiotic  remarks  with 
the  idea  of  chasing  the  tragedy  for  a  moment  from  that 
wan  little  face,  but  he  could  not  remember  more  than 
that. 

Desiree  had  not  looked  upon  him  as  amusing  in  those 
first  days  of  their  acquaintance.  He  had  been  a  god,  a 
hero,  neither  of  them  the  beings  one  expects  to  pose  as 


THE  RENOVATED  CHATEAU     291 

wags.  He  was  still  both  of  these  to  her,  but  a  man  into 
the  bargain — an  intensely  lovable,  delightfully  stupid 
man,  who  imagined  she  would  not  recognize  him  merely 
because'he  had  come  back  to  her  as  his  cousin. 

His  presence  sent  her  singing  through  the  old  house 
which,  when  he  had  first  come  there,  had  had  nothing 
but  drafty  sighs  and  the  splash  of  rain,  like  tears. 

Very  often,  when  her  lessons  were  over,  she  would 
come  straight  out  and  look  at  him,  as  in  white  overalls 
he  superintended  the  renovations. 

For  a  time,  on  the  pretext  of  seeing  how  things  were 
getting  on,  she  would  watch  him  as  he  gave  a  hand  here, 
advice  there,  instructions  about  this,  that,  and  the  other 
thing,  at  everybody's  beck  and  call,  yet  never  out  o-f 
temper,  never  flurried,  supremely  master  of  himself  and 
those  around  him. 

"You  work  too  hard,"  she  would  often  say.  "For  a 
change  come  and  help  me  to  gather  fruit  for  lunch  and 
dinner." 

It  was  an  invitation  he  could  never  refuse,  to  wander 
in  the  fruit-laden  orchards  with  the  princess,  to  stand  with 
her  under  peach  and  apricot  trees,  whilst  she  looked 
critically  at  the  crop. 

"That  one  is  going  to  be  for  you  now,"  she  would 
say,  pointing  at  a  particularly  fine  specimen. 

And  it  would  be  eaten  there  and  then,  in  company 
with  several  others  of  its  kind,  sitting  with  Desiree  under 
the  shade  of  a  pine,  or  olive,  or  walnut  tree.  There  was 
no  sign  of  "The  Ice  Maiden"  then,  only  a  young  girl, 
teasing  and  tender. 

"I  had  cherries  in  my  hat  the  first  day  I  met  my  Mr. 
Wilson,"  she  remarked  one  morning  when  they  were 
feasting  on  the  last  of  this  crop. 


292  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

Wilson  knew  this  quite  well,  and  the  comment  made 
him  fidgety. 

He  heard  a  great  deal  about  "my  Mr.  Wilson"  during 
his  stay  at  the  chateau,  and  he  hated  him  with  a  deep 
and  ferocious  hatred.  There  was  no  one  on  earth  so 
handsome,  so  clever,  so  noble.  He  was  a  pack  of  aggres- 
sive virtues,  bristling  with  every  good  point  imaginable. 
He  loathed  the  glorified  image  of  himself  that  lived  in 
the  girl's  mind.  It  never  dawned  on  him  to  think  that 
Desiree  was  favoring  him,  encouraging  him  even;  he 
never  dreamed  she  had  seen  through  his  deception,  for 
one  or  two  letters  of  hers  had  already  reached  him  under 
cover  from  England,  thanking  him  for  sending  her  such 
an  excellent  and  reliable  steward,  saying  how  much  she 
liked  his  cousin,  and  what  a  nice  man  he  was;  he  only 
saw  himself  privileged  because  of  that  impossible  person 
— "my  Mr.  Wilson." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
MR.  GREEN  PREDICTS 

One  day  Mr.  Green  came  home  to  lunch  with  an  air 
about  him  that  his  wife  knew — an  air  that  portended 
news. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  the  moment  he  was  seated  at 
the  table. 

"Annie,  what  has  John  Wilson  been  on  with  in 
France?"  he  asked  mysteriously. 

"Nothing  that  I  know  of,  though  I  did  once  think  he 
was  sufficiently  in  love  to  marry." 

"You  and  your  matchmaking,"  her  husband  exclaimed 
impatiently.  "What  I  want  to  know  is,  was  he  speculat- 
ing over  there?" 

"Now,  Mr.  Green,  if  he  had  been,  would  he  be  likely 
to  tell  me  ?  What  questions  you  men  do  ask,  to  be  sure." 

Mr.  Green  helped  himself  liberally  to  salmon  mayon- 
naise. 

"Well,  I've  just  heard  that  Wilson  has  sold  his  busi- 
ness for  something  like  £200,000." 

"I'm  sure  it's  worth  it,"  she  replied,  by  no  means  im- 
pressed with  the  news. 

"Not  only  has  he  sold  his  business,"  Mr.  Green  went  on 
heavily,  "but  he  has  gone  and  got  himself  a  job  abroad." 

"All  men  aren't  like  you,"  she  answered,  glad  of  an 
opportunity  of  getting  a  thrust  home.  "Wilson  wants  to 
know  what  the  world's  made  of,  and  I  don't  blame  him." 

Her  husband  ignored  this  remark. 

293 


-94  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"Now  I  ask  you,  what  does  it  mean?"  he  continued  im- 
pressively. "What  does  it  mean  when  a  man  sells  his 
business  and  goes  and  takes  some  tuppence  ha'penny  job 
abroad?" 

"I  never  was  any  good  at  riddles,"  she  replied  placidly. 

"It  means,  Annie,  that  he's  ruined,"  Mr.  Green  said, 
dropping  his  bomb. 

With  fork  half  way  to  her  mouth  his  wife  stared  at 
him,  her  eyes  round  with  horror. 

"Not  John  Wilson!"  she  exclaimed.  "He's  such  a 
good  sort." 

"John  Wilson  it  is,"  her  husband  answered  calmly. 
"And  what  I  want  to  know  is,  how  did  he  come  a  cropper  ? 
He  must  have  got  himself  into  some  devil  of  a  mess  in 
France.  I  heard  on  good  authority  that  he  had  been 
negotiating  for  the  sale  of  his  business  since  the  moment 
he  returned.  Men  don't  sell  a  business  like  his  and  skip 
off  abroad  unless  things  have  gone  mightily  wrong  with 
them.  If  you  ask  me,  he's  been  dabbling  in  foreign  stocks 
and  shares  that  he  doesn't  understand.  Or  else " 

He  paused,  inspiration  on  his  face. 

"I  say,  Annie,  did  he  go  much  to  Monte  Carlo  ?"  He 
slapped  his  leg. 

"That's  it,  I  bet  you  anything,"  he  continued,  not  wait- 
ing for  any  reply.  "Wilson  has  been  to  the  tables  and 
burned  himself  badly,  like  many  a  man  before  him.  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  it  of  him.  He's  such  a  level- 
headed sort.  But  then  you  never  know.  One  thing  is 
certain,  he's  down  among  the  dead  men  now.  And  this, 
Annie,  comes  of  folks  going  abroad.  There's  Wilson 
ruined,  and  you  with  your  best  bracelet  stolen,  all  through 
trespassing  about  in  foreign  lands.  England  is  good 
enough  for  me." 


MR.  GREEN  PREDICTS  295 

Mrs.  Green  hardly  heard  the  caustic  comments  on  her 
love  of  change  and  travel.  She  saw  a  mystery  solved — 
one  that  had  often  puzzled  her. 

"So  that  was  why  Wilson  didn't  propose  to  the  Countess 
de  Mailly,"  she  said.  "Anyone  with  half  an  eye  could 
see  he  was  madly  in  love  with  her." 

A  tear  trickled  down  her  face. 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

During  the  first  fortnight  of  his  stay  at  the  Domaine  de 
Mailly  it  seemed  to  Wilson  that  he  had  gained  a  lesser 
paradise. 

Then  a  fly  appeared  in  his  ointment — not  one  alone, 
but  a  swarm. 

The  old  families  around  learned  that  the  Countess  de 
Mailly  was  back,  living  quietly  on  her  estate — the  young 
heiress  whose  beauty  and  romantic  story  had  taken  Paris 
by  storm. 

People  who  for  years  had  ignored  her  existence  began 
to  call.  They  came  in  motors  from  thirty  miles  and  more 
away,  in  carriages  and  pairs  from  Nice.  Hardly  a  day 
passed  without  bringing  its  visitor,  and  every  caller  had 
a  coat  of  arms  on  carriage  or  car. 

If  by  chance  Wilson  appeared  during  their  visit,  lorg- 
nettes and  monocles  would  be  turned  on  him,  as  if  he 
were  some  strange  beast — more  especially  if  he  appeared 
in  overalls,  as  he  had  done  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
when  coming  in  to  consult  Desiree  on  some  point  con- 
nected with  the  renovations,  unaware  that  she  had  visitors. 

One  afternoon  when  this  happened,  blissfully  ignorant 
that  there  was  anything  the  matter  with  her  man,  she  had 
introduced  him  to  a  princess — a  real  one,  not  of  the  fairy 
species,  with  long  ears,  a  pronounced  moustache,  and  a 
pendulous  nose;  a  haughty  and  impecunious  dame,  who 

296 


A  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT  297 

had  brought  her  son,  a  weedy,  degenerate  princeling, 
From  the  moment  of  Desiree's  entrance  the  prince  had 
not  taken  his  eyes  off  her.  With  open  admiration  he 
ogled  her,  as  if  he  could  not  credit  that  so  much  youth, 
beauty,  and  money — thrice  blessed  trinity — could  go  to- 
gether. The  Countess  de  Mailly  in  no  way  resembled  the 
previous  moneyed  specimens  his  mother  had  produced 
for  his  inspection. 

"My  steward,  Mr.  Wilson,"  Desiree  had  said,  smiling 
at  the  broad  figure  in  overalls  as  she  had  not  deigned  to 
smile  at  the  prince. 

Wilson  had  withdrawn  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  seeing 
hostility  in  the  woman's  stare,  patronage  in  the  man's 
offhand  greeting. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  that — er — gentleman  live* 
here  in  the  chateau,  Countess?"  the  princess  had  asked 
in  an  incredulous  tone  the  moment  Wilson  had  vanished* 

Desiree  smiled  softly  to  herself. 

"I  like  to  have  Mr.  Wilson  where  I  can  lay  a  finger  oil 
him  at  any  moment,"  she  replied.  "It  makes  me  feel  so 
safe." 

"My  dear  child,  have  you  never  heard  of  the  conven- 
tions ?"  the  princess  exclaimed,  horrified. 

"Miss  Ryder,  my  governess,  represents  them.  She  is 
sixty,  and  her  father  was  an  English  bishop." 

At  this  reply  the  lorgnettes  were  switched  on  Desiree. 

The  girl  was  very  beautiful  and  very  rich,  and  it  was 
obvious  that  the  prince  was  most  epris.  Money  was 
badly  needed  to  repair  their  fallen  fortunes,  and  at  last 
it  seemed  as  if  he  were  prepared  to  swallow  it,  presented 
in  this  palatable  form.  Of  course  the  Countess  de  Mailly 
was  not  quite  the  same  as  other  French  girls  of  good 
birth.  She  had  twenty-one  years  of  blindness  behind 


298  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

her,  during  which,  according  to  all  reports,  she  had  been 
left  entirely  to  servants,  utterly  neglected  by  her  guar- 
dian; in  fact  she  was  only  just  beginning  to  read  and 
write.  So  naturally  it  was  not  so  very  surprising  if  she 
could  not  quite  distinguish  the  difference  between  this 
English  person  with  the  queer  name  and  a  French  aris- 
tocrat. 

"As  an  old  school  companion  of  your  mother's,  my  dear 
young  friend,  I  must  tell  you "  the  princess  began. 

What  she  was  going  to  say  was  not  finished.  Another 
visitor  was  announced — a  bachelor  on  the  far  side  of 
forty,  who -claimed  acquaintance  on  the  score  of  having 
known  Desiree's  father. 

Occasionally  when  well-placed  fortune-hunters  were 
there  Wilson  would  come  in  for  tea.  It  was  a  refined 
form  of  torture  to  him,  to  give  Desiree  a  chance  of  really 
measuring  him  side  by  side  with  the  suave,  polished, 
elegant  men  of  her  own  class. 

But  she  did  not  always  give  him  the  opportunity. 

Sometimes  when  she  was  standing  watching  him  as  he 
moved,  calm  and  unflurried,  among  a  host  of  work- 
people, the  sound  of  carriage  wheels  or  the  hoot  of  a 
motor  would  bring  her  even  closer  to  his  side. 

"Mr.  Wilson,  hide  me.  There  are  some  people  coming 
to  sec  me,  and  I  don't  want  to  see  them." 

She  would  seize  his  arm  and  hurry  with  him  into  the 
deep  shadows  of  an  olive  grove,  or  the  depths  of  some 
dark  pine  wood,  and  make  him  sit  down  beside  her, 
hidden  in  the  shade  of  the  trees. 

The  carriage  would  stop.  A  few  minutes  later  Pierre's 
old  voice  would  come  calling: 

"Mademoiselle !     Mademoiselle !" 

But  Desiree's  hands  we      already  over  her  ears. 


A  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT  299 

"I  don't  hear  anybody  calling,  do  you,  Mr.  Wilson?'" 
she  would  question,  looking  the  incarnation  of  mischief. 

Then  Wilson  had  to  unbend  and  smile  back  at  her. 

Whilst  Miss  Ryder  gave  tea  or  chocolate  to  undesired 
visitors,  Desiree  remained  hidden  at  some  distance  with 
the  man  of  her  choice.  And  he  would  stretch  himself 
beside  her,  giving  himself  up  to  the  joy  of  the  moment. 

Occasionally,  when  his  eyes  wandered  from  the  girl, 
it  would  seem  that  a  fly  crawled  in  his  ear,  a  fly  that 
refused  to  go  at  the  first  or  even  the  second  hit,  and 
perhaps  a  third  brought  a  suppressed  gurgle  of  delight 
which  told  him  the  tormentor  was  a  blade  of  grass  in 
Desiree's  hand. 

Forgetting  the  gulf  between  them,  he  would  grab  at 
the  small,  teasing  hand,  and  hold  it  for  a  moment  quiver- 
ing in  his,  then  let  it  go  suddenly.  For  all  at  once  he 
would  remember  her  position  and  his  poverty,  and  that 
she  could  be  a  real  princess  if  she  wanted.  The  prince- 
ling simply  haunted  the  house ;  hardly  a  day  passed  with- 
out his  coming,  bringing  the  girl  gifts,  or  wanting  to  take 
her  somewhere. 

Then  the  grass  would  tickle  no  more.  Instead, 
Desiree  would  sit  bolt  upright  beside  her  steward,  won- 
dering why  he  could  not  see  what  she  was  trying  to  show 
him. 

When  her  visitors  said  disparaging  things,  or  looked 
in  a  disapproving  manner  at  her  idol,  with  an  effort  she 
kept  herself  from  flaring  up  at  them,  from  telling  them 
what  she  thought  of  them  and  him.  .But  most  of  all  she 
wanted  to  lay  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  weep  because 
they  could  not  see  how  wonderful  he  was;  to  tell  him 
what  they  had  said,  and  how  it  hurt  her;  to  hear  him 
laugh  in  his  pleasant,  kindly  manner  at  all  these  people 


300  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

and  their  petty  ways,  he,  a  man  so  infinitely  their  superior, 
to  hear  him  say: 

"I  don't  care  a  hang  what  they  say,  Desiree,  so  long  as 
you  love  me." 

But  she  could  not  do  any  such  thing.  He  held  himself 
so  aloof,  as  if  he  were  really  the  god  that,  in  her  darkness, 
she  had  thought  him — aloof,  yet  unfailingly  kind  and 
helpful  and  considerate. 

Sometimes  it  needed  a  terrible  effort  not  to  throw 
herself  on  his  hard  strength  as  he  lay  stretched  out  on 
the  ground  beside  her.  She  wanted  to  have  his  arms 
around  her  again,  holding  her  safe  and  secure,  crushed 
so  close  against  him  that  it  seemed  they  were  one. 

It  never  occurred  to  Wilson  to  consider  that  Desiree 
did  not  take  any  of  her  men  visitors  gathering  fruit  with 
her,  that  she  did  not  run  off  with  them  and  hide  in  the 
woods,  and  then  sit  demure  and  sedate  at  their  sides, 
tickling  their  ears  with  grass. 

But  what  was  not  obvious  to  Wilson  very  soon  became 
obvious  to  the  outside  world.  To  all  other  men,  Desiree 
was  "The  Ice  Maiden,"  cold  and  scornful,  not  even  con- 
descending to  pour  out  their  tea  or  chocolate  when  they 
came  to  see  her,  letting  her  governess  officiate  at  the  tea- 
table. 

With  thoughtful  eyes  she  watched  her  new  friends. 

In  past  days,  when  she  was  living  at  the  chateau,  these 
smart  mothers  had  not  brought  their  sons,  these  middle- 
aged  bachelors  had  not  remembered  they  were  friends  of 
her  father.  No  one  had  come  to  see  her  when  she  really 
needed  a  friend;  no  one — except  Mr.  Wilson.  He  was 
the  only  one  who  had  come  then  with  gifts  and  invitations. 

When  entertaining  in  her  own  drawing-room  Desiree 


A  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT  301 

was  always  the  princess,  cold,  haughty,  and  imperious, 
unless  Wilson  chanced  to  appear. 

Then  she  was  no  longer  a  ruler,  but  a  slave  girl. 

Miss  Ryder  was  not  allowed  to  pour  out  his  tea. 
Desiree  did  that  herself.  And  she  carried  it  to  him,  and 
from  the  array  of  dainties  fetched  what  she  knew  he 
liked  the  best. 

The  difference  was  so  marked,  the  preference  so 
obvious,  that  the  titled  and  aristocratic  set  that  now 
claimed  the  girl  as  one  of  themselves  soon  began  to  talk. 

The  talk  came  to  a  head  one  day  at  a  reception  in  Nice. 
The  real  princess  was  there,  spiteful  and  malignant  be- 
cause the  princeling  had  been  refused.  In  a  corner  she 
and  various  other  fashionable  mothers  were  talking,  their 
gaze  fixed  on  Desiree,  who  was  sitting  close  by. 

"If  I  had  to  say  who  the  Countess  de  Mailly  favors, 
I  should  say  she  is  guilty  of  the  bad  taste  of  being  in  love 
with  her  own  steward,"  the  princess's  well-bred,  malicious 
voice  remarked. 

Desiree  heard  what  was  said,  and,  what  was  more,  she 
knew  she  was  intended  to  hear. 

In  a  sudden  gust  of  anger  at  the  falseness,  hypocrisy, 
and  flattery  around  her,  she  got  up  quickly,  and  faced  the 
gossipers  in  the  corner. 

"Mr.  Wilson  was  my  friend  when  I  most  needed  one," 
she  said.  "He  helped  me  when  I  was  poor  and  blind. 
He  did  not  wait  until  I  had  sight  and  riches.  I  was  as 
much  the  daughter  of  your  old  school  friend  then  as  now, 
but  you  could  not  remember  it  until  I  had  £10,000  a  year. 
And  now  you  sneer  at  my  preference!" 

Before  anyone  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  make  any 
reply,  she  turned  and  went  quickly  from  the  room,  to  seek 
a  refuge  in  the  splendid  motor-car  which  Wilson  had 


302  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

selected  for  her,  to  be  driven  home  by  the  smart  chauffeur 
he  had  engaged. 

As  the  days  passed  and  Wilson  still  remained  unre- 
sponsive, in  spite  of  all  the  timid  advances  she  made,  her 
heart  grew  cold  and  heavy,  and  the  soft  little  voice  no 
longer  sang  about  the  old  house. 

Perhaps  he  did  not  love  her?  Perhaps  he  was  only 
doing  what  he  considered  his  duty,  in  a  cold,  hard,  English 
way,  and  had  come  back  to  help  her  because  she  was  so 
helpless  ? 

Then  one  day  it  seemed  to  Desiree  that  she  had  a 
reason  for  his  silence. 

A  letter  came  from  Mrs.  Green,  and  among  various 
items  was  one  that  ran: 

"I  have  just  heard  that  your  friend,  John  Wilson,  is 
ruined.  That  must  have  been  why  he  left  Nice  in  such 
a  hurry,  before  you  were  really  better.  The  moment  he 
got  back  to  England  he  set  about  selling  his  business. 
A  few  weeks  ago  it  was  sold  for  about  £200,000,  and  he 
has  taken  a  post  abroad.  Nobody  knows  where  he  has 
gone.  He  has  burnt  his  bridges  behind  him.  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  know  this,  because  you  were  wondering 
why  he  had  left  Nice  before  you  were  quite  cured.  He 
is  a  proud  man,  who  would  clear  out  if  he  were  hard  hit, 
and  according  to  rumor  he  had  not  a  penny  left.  No  one 
knows  how  he  came  to  grief,  but  the  fact  remains  that 
he  has." 

In  her  letters  to  Mrs.  Green  Desiree  had  never  men- 
tioned that  Wilson  had  come  back  to  her  as  her  steward. 
He  had  gone  away  from  her  once,  and  she  was  afraid  he 
might  go  again  if  he  learned  that  she  had  guessed  his  real 
identity. 

She  read  the  paragraph  through  again  and  again,  and 
then  sat  staring  at  it  thoughtfully. 


A  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT  303 

How  had  he  been  ruined,  this  man  who  had  come  into 
her  life  with  £10,000  a  year,  who  had  vanished,  after 
performing  miracles,  and  reappeared,  shorn  of  his  riches, 
too  poor  and  too  proud — so  she  gathered  from  Mrs. 
Green's  letter — to  ask  the  woman  he  loved  to  marry  him  ? 

All  day  Desiree  carried  the  problem  about  with  her, 
brooding  on  it  silently. 

When  Mr.  Wilson  came  into  her  life  he  had  £10,000 
a  year  and  she  had  nothing.  Now  she  had  the  money 
and  he  was  penniless.  He  had  sold  his  business  for 
£200,000.  "The  Necklace  of  Tears"  had  been  sold  for 
that  amount — so  he  had  said. 

It  suddenly  dawned  on  Desiree  that  she  had  never 
asked  him  to  whom  he  had  sold  her  heirloom.  She  had 
been  only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  it,  lest  misfortune  should 
fall  on  her  idol.  And  misfortune  had  fallen  on  him, 
despite  her  efforts. 

The  necklace  had  never  been  mentioned  since  he  had 
come  back  into  her  life.  It  was  connected  with  her  uncle 
and  cousin,  people  she  tried  not  to  think  about. 

Desiree  found  herself  thinking  about  them  now. 

They  had  wanted  the  necklace.  Almost  from  the  day 
of  her  birth  her  uncle  had  schemed  and  planned  to  get  it, 
condemning  her  to  years  of  darkness  for  the  sake  of  its 
evil,  glittering  stones,  pretending  to  her  it  was  of  no  real 
value.  Mr.  Wilson  had  saved,  not  only  the  necklace,  but 
what  to  her  was  infinitely  more  precious — the  honor  of 
her  name. 

Looking  at  the  matter  calmly,  in  the  light  of  wider 
wisdom,  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  her  uncle  and 
cousin  would  let  the  necklace  go  lightly.  Had  the 
scheming  and  plotting  gone  on  after  it  had  left  her  pos- 


304  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

session?  In  the  end  had  they  succeeded  in  stealing  it 
from  Mr.  Wilson? 

Why  had  he  gone  back  to  England  so  unexpectedly? 
That  afternoon  in  the  nursing  home  the  news  of  his 
departure  had  fallen  on  her  with  the  suddenness  of  a 
thunderbolt. 

She  remembered  the  tension  under  which  he  had  been 
laboring.  Since  that  day  she  had  learned  that,  the  night 
before  his  going,  her  uncle  and  cousin  had  left  Nice  in  a 
motor-boat  and  had  been  drowned  off  Toulon.  No  one 
had  been  able  to  find  out  why  they  had  gone  out  in  a  small 
boat  on  a  dark  night,  but  it  proved  to  her  that  they  wanted 
to  get  away  quickly  and  quietly  and  without  anyone  know- 
ing where  they  had  gone. 

Had  they  somehow  managed  to  steal  the  necklace  from 
Mr.  Wilson?  Had  they  been  drowned  in  running  away 
with  it?  Had  he  ruined  himself  to  pay  a  debt  of  honor — 
to  her,  who  wanted  nothing  from  him  but  love?  And 
now  he  was  poor,  so  poor  and  so  proud  that  he  dared 
not  ask  for  what  was  his  own. 

The  thought  thrilled  her.  It  was  all  in  keeping  with 
her  estimate  of  his  character. 

But  they  might  go  on  for  months,  years  even,  like  this, 
unless  someone  took  the  matter  firmly  in  hand.  If  he 
was  afraid  to  speak,  then  she  must  not  be.  Not  now — 
not  when  she  had  the  key  to  his  silence. 

The  thought  set  her  heart  trembling. 

It  was  hard,  cruel,  that  she  should  have  to  ask  for  the 
man  she  wanted,  she  who  spent  her  days  in  avoiding  offers 
she  did  not  want  But  their  weeks  together  showed  he 
was  not  going  to  say  anything.  Without  actual  words 
she  could  not  show  him  more  plainly  than  she  had  already 
done  that  he  might  lay  his  suit  before  her. 


CHAPTER  X 
A  DREAM  THAT  CAME  TRUE 

That  night,  when  Desiree  dressed  for  dinner,  she  put 
on  a  frock  which  in  the  ordinary  way  she  would  have 
considered  too  elaborate  for  a  meal  en  famille;  one,  more- 
over, that  had  not  seen  daylight  since  Wilson's  return — 
the  pink  silk  frock  with  the  white  swansdown  that  she  had 
worn  on  the  night  before  her  operation. 

The  sight  of  her  in  it,  under  the  soft  green  shade  of  the 
loquat-tree,  caused  a  spasm  of  pain  to  pass  over  Wilson's 
face. 

What  dreams  he  had  dreamt  that  night  when  he  had 
first  seen  her  in  a  frock  for  which  he  had  paid,  when  he 
had  clasped  that  accursed  "Necklace  of  Tears"  about  her 
throat,  and  wrapped  her  in  a  cloak  of  ermine — beautiful 
dreams  which  those  two  villains  and  his  own  carelessness 
had  swept  away. 

During  dinner  he  was  unusually  silent,  brooding  on 
what  he  had  lost. 

And  Desiree  had  never  seemed  more  desirable,  more 
lovely,  more  bright-eyed  and  radiant,  like  one  who  had 
just  inherited  a  vast  fortune. 

All  through  dinner  he  watched  her  anxiously,  a  tortured 
look  in  his  eyes. 

Perhaps  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  the  prince. 
If  she  did  he  would  have  to  go.  He  could  not  stay  if  she 
were  married  to  another  man.  That  would  be  agony  past 
all  bearing. 

305 


306  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

The  meal  went  through  its  course  steadily.  When 
coffee  arrived  the  lamp  came,  turning  the  green  shadows 
into  gold. 

Beyond  the  terrace  day  had  melted  into  night — a  gilded 
evening  that  turned  softly  into  silver  as  the  moon  gathered 
strength,  flooding  the  world  with  white  light.  In  the 
reservoirs  frogs  croaked  loudly.  A  myriad  of  tiny  lamps 
about  the  trees  and  shrubs,  the  fireflies  hung  and  darted. 
A  light  breeze,  faintly  sweet  with  orange  blossom,  made 
the  leaves  overhead  sigh  gently.  The  mountains  that 
ringed  the  paradise  loomed  like  clouds  against  the  milky 
sky,  where  the  moon  soared,  a  half  globe  of  flaming  silver. 
There  were  no  trees,  only  shadows  that  sighed  vaguely. 
No  valleys,  only  deeper  depths  of  indigo  where  nightin- 
gales sang. 

As  Wilson  stirred  his  coffee  his  gaze  was  on  the  soft, 
blurred,  scented  scene. 

How  he  loved  it  all — the  peace  and  the  beauty — this 
land  that  was  Desiree's.  To  live  there  always  with  her 
as  his  wife,  this  girl  who  was  so  decidedly  part  of  it 
and  him;  to  come  between  her  and  a  rough-and-tumble 
world;  to  work  hard  on  her  estate  and  make  a  model 
place  of  it;  to  hand  it  on,  perfected,  to  their  children! 
A  mad  dream  that  he  in  his  conceit  had  once  dared  to 
dream. 

A  voice  broke  into  his  broodings. 

"Often  I  have  sat  here  in  the  dark,  wondering  what 
the  world  was  made  of,"  it  said. 

"And  what  have  you  found  it  made  of,  Countess  ?"  he 
asked,  a  hungry  gleam  in  his  eyes  as  he  watched  her. 

"I've  found  that  it  is  personality  that  counts,  not  the 
person ;  that  it  doesn't  matter  what  people  are  so  long  as 
they  ring  true." 


A  DREAM  THAT  CAME  TRUE          307 

Wilson's  thoughts  went  to  the  princeling.  What  unseen 
treasures  had  a  young  girl's  eyes  discovered  in  that  de- 
generate specimen? 

He  lapsed  into  silence  once  more. 

Again  her  voice  broke  into  his  breedings,  with  a  des- 
perate "do  or  die"  note  in  it. 

"Mr.  Wilson,  to  whom  did  you  sell  my  necklace?" 

He  woke  to  the  fact  that  he  and  Desiree  were  alone, 
that  Miss  Ryder  had  gone,  and  that  the  girl  was  looking 
at  him  with  wide,  strained  eyes. 

For  a  moment  he  tried  to  keep  up  the  farce. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Countess?"  he  asked,  a  guilty 
flush  deepening  the  red  of  his  face. 

"Don't  pretend  you  don't  know.  Don't  pretend  to  be 
your  cousin  any  longer.  I  know,  I've  always  known, 
you  are  John  Wilson." 

Wilson  cast  one  quick  glance  at  the  small  face  opposite 
him. 

His  fraud  had  been  discovered,  his  lies  found  out! 
There  was  nothing  left  but  to  confess — confess  and  have 
to  leave  a  lesser  paradise,  for  a  guilty  conscience  said 
those  blue  eyes  were  looking  at  him  with  coldness  and 
accusation. 

"I  didn't  sell  it,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"Did — they  steal  it  from  you  ?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

He  had  no  time  to  invent  an  explanation. 

In  his  hesitation  she  read  the  truth. 

"Did  you  ruin  yourself  to  pay  me  back  the  price  of  it?" 
she  asked  tensely. 

"It  was  a  debt  of  honor,"  he  said,  his  voice  flat. 

Desiree  rose  from  her  chair,  her  face  crimson,  her 
eyes  strained,  her  breast  heaving. 

"How  dared  you,  how  dared  you  do  it?"  she  gasped. 


308  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"How  dared  you  ruin  yourself  because  of  me?  I  don't 
want  your  money.  I  don't  want  anything  from  you 
except — except  love." 

As  she  said  the  last  two  words  she  turned  quickly, 
running  from  him  as  she  had  run  once  before,  not  hiding 
herself  in  the  house  this  time,  but  seeking  a  refuge  in  the 
garden,  in  the  seethe  of  shame  in  which  she  moved,  hardly 
knowing  where  she  was  going. 

For  a  moment  Wilson  was  too  astounded  to  do  any- 
thing. Then  he  was  on  his  feet,  following  after  her. 

What  a  fool  he  was — always  had  been,  for  that  matter, 
where  Desiree  was  concerned.  And  his  last  rank  piece  of 
folly  was  to  imagine  she  had  not  recognized  him ! 

He  thought  of  all  the  little  advances  she  had  made 
during  the  last  few  weeks  to  which  he  had  been  too  stupid 
to  respond,  keeping  them  both  on  the  rack,  finally  making 
her  do  what  was  wholly  alien  to  her  nature  and  what  had 
left  her  burning  with  shame. 

Then  he  remembered  having  read  somewhere  that  a 
princess  must  always  propose  to  the  man  she  loves  if  that 
man  chances  to  be  a  commoner.  He  would  tell  her  that 
the  moment  he  found  her,  as  he  kissed  the  shame  from 
her  face. 

But  Desiree  was  not  so  easy  to  find. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps  there  was 
no  sign  of  her  anywhere. 

Wilson  paused. 

All  around  frogs  croaked,  crickets  whirred,  and  fire- 
flies flashed  gayly.  But  as  he  stood  listening  he  noticed 
that  the  old  reservoir  with  the  stone  crocodile,  where  the 
frogs  usually  croaked  the  loudest,  was  silent. 

By  now  he  had  learned  enough  of  the  habits  of  the 


A  DREAM  THAT  CAME  TRUE          309 

creatures  to  know  that  their  silence  portended  the  pres- 
ence of  some  person. 

In  that  direction  he  hurried  through  a  maze  of  scented 
trees. 

Presently  a  bend  in  the  path  showed  Desiree  standing 
in  the  moonlight,  the  water  a  silver  sheet  behind  her. 

"You  make  me  forget  myself,"  she  flashed  the  moment 
he  appeared,  "you,  with  your  cold,  hard,  English  heart." 

Wilson  was  no  more  afraid  of  her  anger  now  than  he 
had  been  of  her  tears  on  a  former  occasion.  In  a  moment 
he  had  her  in  his  arms,  and  immediately  her  shamed  face 
was  hidden  against  his  shoulder. 

"I  don't  think  you'll  find  my  heart  specially  cold  and 
hard,  even  if  it  is  English,"  he  whispered. 

Then  he  had  a  lot  more  to  say  into  her  ear,  the  only 
part  of  her  face  that  was  accessible. 

A  thin  cloud  veiled  the  moon  for  a  few  minutes.  When 
it  passed,  the  light  revealed  John  Wilson  and  the  princess 
of  his  dreams  sitting  on  the  old  stone  seat  together.  But 
she  was  not  sitting  sedately  beside  him  as  was  her  habit 
when  she  was  a  phantom  of  his  own  imaginings  and  he 
was  a  small  shabby  boy  with  the  "sun  and  moon"  in  his 
trousers.  He  had  found  another  place  for  her,  where 
he  had  never  thought  of  putting  her  in  those  far-off  days. 

She  was  on  his  knee,  her  head  resting  on  his  shoulder, 
hugging  one  of  his  hands  to  her  breast.  There  was  a 
flush  of  happiness  on  her  face  now,  not  crimson  shame. 
He  had  kissed  all  that  away  as  he  had  explained  that  a 
princess — even  a  fairy  one — must  always  propose  to  a 
commoner,  and  that  there  was  nothing  untoward  in  her 
proceedings,  but  had  he  dreamt  she  was  willing  to  tako 
on  such  an  ordinary  sort  of  man,  he  would  have  let  her 
waive  her  royal  prerogative  and  done  the  job  himself. 


3o8  THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

"How  dared  you  ruin  yourself  because  of  me?  I  don't 
want  your  money.  I  don't  want  anything  from  you 
except — except  love." 

As  she  said  the  last  two  words  she  turned  quickly, 
running  from  him  as  she  had  run  once  before,  not  hiding 
herself  in  the  house  this  time,  but  seeking  a  refuge  in  the 
garden,  in  the  seethe  of  shame  in  which  she  moved,  hardly 
knowing  where  she  was  going. 

For  a  moment  Wilson  was  too  astounded  to  do  any- 
thing. Then  he  was  on  his  feet,  following  after  her. 

What  a  fool  he  was — always  had  been,  for  that  matter, 
where  Desiree  was  concerned.  And  his  last  rank  piece  of 
folly  was  to  imagine  she  had  not  recognized  him ! 

He  thought  of  all  the  little  advances  she  had  made 
during  the  last  few  weeks  to  which  he  had  been  too  stupid 
to  respond,  keeping  them  both  on  the  rack,  finally  making 
her  do  what  was  wholly  alien  to  her  nature  and  what  had 
left  her  burning  with  shame. 

Then  he  remembered  having  read  somewhere  that  a 
princess  must  always  propose  to  the  man  she  loves  if  that 
man  chances  to  be  a  commoner.  He  would  tell  her  that 
the  moment  he  found  her,  as  he  kissed  the  shame  from 
her  face. 

But  Desiree  was  not  so  easy  to  find. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps  there  was 
no  sign  of  her  anywhere. 

Wilson  paused. 

All  around  frogs  croaked,  crickets  whirred,  and  fire- 
flies flashed  gayly.  But  as  he  stood  listening  he  noticed 
that  the  old  reservoir  with  the  stone  crocodile,  where  the 
frogs  usually  croaked  the  loudest,  was  silent. 

By  now  he  had  learned  enough  of  the  habits  of  the 


A  DREAM  THAT  CAME  TRUE          309 

creatures  to  know  that  their  silence  portended  the  pres- 
ence of  some  person. 

In  that  direction  he  hurried  through  a  maze  of  scented 
trees. 

Presently  a  bend  in  the  path  showed  Desiree  standing 
in  the  moonlight,  the  water  a  silver  sheet  behind  her. 

"You  make  me  forget  myself,"  she  flashed  the  moment 
he  appeared,  "y°u»  with  your  cold,  hard,  English  heart." 

Wilson  was  no  more  afraid  of  her  anger  now  than  he 
had  been  of  her  tears  on  a  former  occasion.  In  a  moment 
he  had  her  in  his  arms,  and  immediately  her  shamed  face 
was  hidden  against  his  shoulder. 

"I  don't  think  you'll  find  my  heart  specially  cold  and 
hard,  even  if  it  is  English,"  he  whispered. 

Then  he  had  a  lot  more  to  say  into  her  ear,  the  only 
part  of  her  face  that  was  accessible. 

A  thin  cloud  veiled  the  moon  for  a  few  minutes.  When 
it  passed,  the  light  revealed  John  Wilson  and  the  princess 
of  his  dreams  sitting  on  the  old  stone  seat  together.  But 
she  was  not  sitting  sedately  beside  him  as  was  her  habit 
when  she  was  a  phantom  of  his  own  imaginings  and  he 
was  a  small  shabby  boy  with  the  "sun  and  moon"  in  his 
trousers.  He  had  found  another  place  for  her,  where 
he  had  never  thought  of  putting  her  in  those  far-off  days. 

She  was  on  his  knee,  her  head  resting  on  his  shoulder, 
hugging  one  of  his  hands  to  her  breast.  There  was  a 
flush  of  happiness  on  her  face  now,  not  crimson  shame. 
He  had  kissed  all  that  away  as  he  had  explained  that  a 
princess — even  a  fairy  one — must  always  propose  to  a 
commoner,  and  that  there  was  nothing  untoward  in  her 
proceedings,  but  had  he  dreamt  she  was  willing  to  take 
on  such  an  ordinary  sort  of  man,  he  would  have  let  her 
waive  her  royal  prerogative  and  done  the  job  himself. 


THE  WOMAN  HE  DESIRED 

And  now  she  leaned  against  him,  smiling  softly,  looking 
at  him  with  worshiping  eyes,  his  hand  tightly  clasped. 

"I  want  everything  to  be  yours,"  she  was  whispering. 
"I  don't  want  any  money.  I  want  to  have  to  say,  'John, 
may  I  have  another  cup  of  coffee,  or  a  piece  of  chicken, 
or  a  cigarette,  or  a  new  frock?'  because  it's  all  yours. 
And  you  to  say,  'Why,  my  darling,  yes,  of  course!'  sur- 
prised that  I  should  even  ask  you.  I  don't  want  you  ever 
to  be  cross  and  say,  'You  know  you  can,  without  worrying 
me  about  it/  I  want  everything  to  be  yours — all  to  come 
from  you.  I  want  you  to  take  back  all  the  money  for  that 
horrid  necklace.  You  don't  owe  me  anything.  I  owe 
everything  to  you — you,  who  have  given  me  light  and — 
love." 

Wilson  kissed  the  child  again  and  pressed  her  closer, 
praying  that  he  might  never  fail  her. 

He  had  reached  the  land  that  few  attain — the  land 
where  dreams  come  true. 


THE  END. 


